When the Time Comes
by RedArt
Summary: Harry and Malfoy are fighting and Hermione tries to intervene, only to find herself in a Hogwarts foreign to her. As a result, can Dumbledore decide to change what 'now was' for what 'once was' when it hits too close to home?
1. Just gone

_**Disclaimer:** I own none of this; I just like playing with them. I promise to return them as unscathed as possible when I'm done._

**Just… gone**

1 

It was relatively quiet, almost eerily so as he sat at his desk, fingers rubbing his temples as Fawkes' soft breathing could be heard to his left. For so long Albus had been the foundation, the strong one, the one whose optimism, however manufactured, kept spirits up and determination focused for those fragile lives being torn around him. Children facing demons when such nightmares should never be on their young shoulders, for that was what they truly were, Harry and the others; and yet, the fate of them all seemed to rest solely on that single innocent soul.

Perhaps it was finally getting to him, the pressure, the façade of confidence, and the aging body. That, perhaps the guilt of putting young Harry in this position and encouraging him, pushing him closer to the destiny that seemed to be carved for him. Albus wasn't sure, but despite the reason, he felt the strongest wave of apprehension, a mixed melancholy and fear, he had ever experienced wash over him.

He had been reading over papers from the governors, the day beautiful outside, an air of blessed forgetfulness as to the real nature of their world at the time drifting through the school like the welcome breeze it was for the students when it assaulted him. His back suddenly felt weighted down, his chest clenching tight as he dropped the parchment he had been inspecting as his hands began to shake nervously. It came without warning.

Why it struck him, especially now, was lost on him. He had received no ill news, yet he felt the growing tinge of fear crawling through his veins until he recognized it for what it was.

Something terribly wrong had happened.

Not waiting a single moment longer, he dropped his hands to the desk, flinging aside the parchment in a wave of yellowing paper as he grabbed his wand that had inadvertently been buried under the layer and dashed off toward the door. Practically jumping to his feet, his heavy layers of robes swishing behind him as he swept past the desk in a fashion even Severus would admire, he failed to notice one small detail…

The change in the photograph sitting on the edge of his desk.

* * *

Albus moved quickly, the phoenix stairs ascending back into position behind him as he exited the entrance to his office. A few students noticed the worried look on their rushing Headmaster's face as he approached, and stepped further against the walls of the corridor to free his way. He wasn't sure how or why he seemed to know exactly where to go, but he did. The Entrance Hall.

"_What do you mean she just up and disappeared?_"

Even from half a corridor away, Albus could tell Minerva was utterly furious. Her Scottish brogue was clinging to the edges of her words as she barely restrained herself. A fleeting thought passed through his mind as to who _she_ was, but being more intent on arriving at the scene, he brushed it aside. Quickening his step, he turned the corner to find a rather interesting collection standing in attendance.

Harry and young Malfoy in torn robes, faces red and eyes glaring at each other between glances to the pile of books beside them, scattered on the floor like they had been unceremoniously dropped and the Gryffindor Head separating the two. Ronald was pale as a ghost, kneeling on the ground beside the books, his mouth opening and closing slowly like a suffocating cod fish while the rest of the crowd, a mix of Gryffindors, Slytherins, and a few curious Hufflepuffs stood a few feet away whispering amongst themselves and pointing at the scene, all of them oblivious to his arrival.

"Well, that's what she did Professor! Malfoy pushed her aside, she fell to the floor, and she just _vanished!_" Harry said through gritted teeth as his eyes bored into Draco who stood there, arrogance painted over his features as only a Malfoy could, his appearance disheveled as it was.

"Granger got in the way," Draco began, his tone bored. "It's not my fault she went missing."

Harry lunged at Draco but Albus was having none of that.

"Harry," he roared, causing the students in his way to disperse hurriedly, leaving only Harry, Draco, Ronald, Minerva and himself in the hall as exiting footsteps echoed around them. At the sound of his voice, Harry paused; his anger still evident on his face as he restrained himself despite the grin Draco cast him. "What has happened Minerva?" he asked, moving his gaze to his friend as he drew closer to the four and then the books Ronald was quietly gathering and stuffing back in the satchel beside him.

"She's gone," Ronald suddenly mumbled, his hands seeming to move of their own accord. "Hermione's gone and she's left her books. She never leaves her books," he added as an afterthought as he continued as to work in an odd trance.

"Oh, how pathetic! Getting soggy over her ruddy books!" Draco cut in, shaking his head.

"Mister Malfoy, unless you wish to cost your house every last point, I suggest you keep your comments to yourself," Minerva said, her brogue inching itself out more with each word. Turning back to him, she began to explain. "Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy thought it wise to start a physical brawl, to which Miss Granger apparently tried to intervene. Mister Malfoy knocked her to the ground and as Potter puts it… she just disappeared."

Albus was at a loss. Hermione Granger… gone? Never had he heard of such a thing.

He knew he stood there several minutes, gingerly fingering his beard as his thoughts whirled around, but he didn't care, nor did he pay any mind to the four before him as he ran possibility after possibility through his thoughts. But he did suddenly take note of the Entrance doors opening behind him, and _that_ turned his blood to ice.

Without turning, he knew whose footsteps were falling behind him. Somehow, he knew and only one thought could then be heard in his mind…

_No!_


	2. Odd Appreciation

**Odd Appreciation**

2

Cold flagstone.

That was the first thing to register in her thoughts even before her eyes opened. Her cheek was against cold flagstone, almost burning her flesh it was so frigid, while the rest of her body felt nailed to a similar substance, which after a moment's realization was the same stony material only its chill was dampened by the bundle of robes between them. If she didn't know better, she'd think her limbs weighed a ton a piece the way they pressed against the unforgiving floor.

Her left arm was pinned under her chest, her right hand mere centimeters from her face as she slowly came to enough to question where she was and how she got there. And what that painful sting was just below her left collarbone.

Opening her eyes, Hermione groaned, her vision blurry as she slowly put pressure on her right hand and lifted herself up to a sitting position, a faint tinkling and crackling noise accompanying her movement, but she ignored it. Freeing her left arm, she cradled it and winced at the tightness of her muscles from having been at such an awkward angle for… how long was it? A while, surely, judging by the silence of the Entrance Hall and the lack of more than torch and moonlight beaming in through the windows. Wasn't it a new moon though? No, she must be thinking of another week then, the thought that almost accompanied that question was just too preposterous.

But wait. Where were Harry and Ron? They wouldn't have just left her there, that she was sure of, but then why was she alone?

"Harry?" she said faintly, letting her left arm rest in her lap as she reached up with her right to try and rub her eyes into focus. The glow of the nearest torch seemed to act as a halo around ever shape she could make out. Perhaps she just wasn't seeing him.

No answer.

"Ron?" she asked now, a tinge of concern in her voice as she began squinting her eyes and looking around for either of them… or anyone for that matter, hiding in the shadows.

Still, no answer.

The whole thing was ridiculous. This was some odd dream or something as Harry or Ron would never leave her sprawled out on the Entrance Hall floor like this. It was ludicrous. But then, why was that damned stinging getting worse? Reaching up absentmindedly to rub the pain away, her fingers grazed her shirt and Hermione immediately let out a cry, lifting her hand to see smeared blood.

"Oh no," she gasped, frantically tearing at her robes and the accursed sweater to find her Time-Turner. Moving away her shirt from just below her collar with her sore left hand, she felt the small tears in the blood dampened fabric as her right hand closed on its chain and pulled. There was a quick jolt of pain and she let out a cry as she pulled the entire chain out into view to find the broken glass of the top half had been imbedded in her flesh, its former golden gleam tainted red as she looked on in horror.

The top half… the thought hit her full force.

Reasoning and sense seemed to slap her all at once as her heart leaped to her throat and she quickly looked about her for the rest, throwing robes aside all around her in a panic until she uncovered the sandy gold and glass mix that had been her tinkling music only moments before, a horrible, glittering mess in the torchlight that acted to only light more fears in her mind.

What if…? No, she couldn't think like that. That possibility just wasn't something she even wanted to consider. This was a dream still… a very bad dream, but a dream nonetheless. Dreams could be controlled. If she'd concentrate hard enough, she could change it, wake up, _something_. Lucid dreaming wasn't that difficult, in fact it came in quite handy when the past several years of your life had been spent under the growing shadow of Voldemort. All she had to do was concentrate.

Closing her eyes, Hermione kept telling herself this. It was a dream. She was on a bed in the Infirmary, or her dorm, and she was just making the worse of a simple fall. She was worrying over nothing. She was… feeling like her stomach was about to lose all its contents.

Quickly covering her mouth, she moaned and willed herself not to vomit. The strange spinning feeling she barely recalled upon hitting the floor was creeping up on her and suddenly the chill of the flagstone was very inviting. Yes, that was it, maybe if she just lay back down, her stomach would settle and she'd awaken where she belonged. Slowly she began to lower herself to the floor.

"You there," came a voice from somewhere behind her, "are you well?"

Hermione kept her eyes closed and her mouth shut for fear of what might come out as she heard the footsteps behind her grow in both volume and speed. Propping herself up on only her left arm now, she longed to do nothing but lay down and make the spinning fade despite its disheartening desire to grow and overtake her.

Moving to lay down again, she felt hands grab her by the shoulders and prevent her from doing so. "You're _not_ well," the voice announced concernedly. Somehow the voice was strange and oddly familiar at the same time. "Come, let's get you to the Infirmary."

At this point, had it not been for the hands holding her, she would have fallen back to the floor, and knowing they were supporting her thus kept her from offering any refusal. Only nodding slightly to agree, she let the hands turn into arms grabbing her and lifting her to her feet. Her legs ached and her head spinned as she stood. Opening her eyes she found her vision was far from as it should be and no sooner than she had felt ready to take a step and thank her kind assistant than she felt like her limbs were those of a marionette and the strings had suddenly been cut, leaving her to fall to the floor.

The spinning was a mad whirlpool now and she could do nothing to fight it. Hermione could feel her legs crumpling beneath her and all thought faded like mist as the arms around her struggled to keep their hold. Had she time to examine it, she would have found it odd that in that moment, she was strangely appreciative as all went black…


	3. Appearances

**Appearances**

3

Despite what one would expect, or lead you to believe, girls could be rather… solid. Not that she was heavy or an extreme burden, but to say he didn't have some difficulty maneuvering the girl into his arms as she lost consciousness would be a lie. A limb body was dead weight.

Carefully he bent down and slid his right arm behind the girl's legs as his left arm remained hooked behind her shoulders. Once he felt he had a firm grip, and stood up again, he cursed himself for not having cast a weightlessness spell on her first, especially since his Head Boy badge had caught her robes at an odd angle and was now puncturing him in the chest. To cast the charm on her now would require putting her back down. Figuring the maneuvering would cost him possibly precious time, he instead started off towards the Infirmary at as fast a pace as was humanly possible.

Fortunately, the journey seemed shorter than he expected, but then he was so preoccupied with getting the girl there, he probably wouldn't have noticed Peeves if he had walked right into him. When he arrived, it was pitch black and he had to call for Madam Dillwyn, sending the middle aged woman running out of her office in a panic, wand lit in her right hand.

"Oh dear heavens!" was all the woman said as she quickly waved him towards the nearest bed, her white cotton nightdress trailing the ground a bit behind her as her bare feet padded the floor. Several long trendels of dark hair peeked out of her nightcap and brushed against the pillow of the bed as she drew down the sheets. "Come, come, my boy set her down now!"

As he laid the girl down, Madam Dillwyn quickly lit the surrounding lamps on the walls with a wave of her wand, causing them both to squint their eyes for a moment as the girl was bathed in warm light. Once their eyes had quickly adjusted, it didn't take long for either of them to notice things were out of sorts.

"Who… who is this child?" Madam Dillwyn asked, looking up at him for a moment and when he face registered the same lost look, returned her gaze to the unconscious girl, her eyes roaming over the odd clothing she wore.

"I don't know Madam, I only just found her in the Entrance Hall, collapsing on the floor," he said, his eyes just as transfixed on the strange jumper and extremely short skirt the girl wore. "I thought that with the robes she was a student but…" he noticed the dark red lining of her robes as Madam Dillwyn straightened the left breast side of her robes.

"She is," she spoke airily, as if her breath was being drawn from her as her fingers traced Hogwarts' crest and an all too familiar Head Girl badge.

His mind was scrambling for answers. A girl he had never seen before, but was apparently in his house _and_ Head Girl was lying before him in clothing that was far from within the tasteful bounds of modesty. It was boggling enough trying to figure how he could have ever missed such a housemate in all his six years of schooling, but for her to go out in such a lack of covering, confused him more.

"Head Girl? But how…" he found himself saying.

"Never mind that," Madam Dillwyn interrupted, her bearings apparently back in place. "She needs attention," she spoke decisively and with a note that ordered him to do likewise. "Go and fetch the Headmaster. You know the password I take it?"

"Yes Madam," he replied, giving the bushy haired girl one last look as Madam Dillwyn prepared to clean her wound, and then spun on his heel and headed towards the Headmaster's Office.

* * *

It was far past curfew, only he and the prefects would be able to move about the halls at this hour without fear of detention, and few of those privileged few would be out this late besides. So it was that his journey to the staircase went by quietly and uninterrupted.

"Toddle Woddle."

The staircase opened and he quickly ascended them two at a time, the last image of the blood staining her jumper jumping to the front of his mind. Reaching the door, he knocked three times before hearing a reply.

"Enter."

Quickly he passed into the circular room, tables covered in scrolls, parchment, and an array of inkwells sprouting quills lined either side as he swept past. "Headmaster Torin, sir… I found a girl in the Entrance Hall, injured and now unconscious. She's in the Infirmary and Madam Dillwyn is tending to her," he quickly announced as he came to stand perfectly erect before the Headmaster's desk.

Torin looked up from the parchment his quill had been hurriedly scratching across. Long salt and pepper hair cascaded down either side of his face while a perfectly manicured goatee and whiskers adored his otherwise ordinary face. Drawing his gaze up at the boy, Torin's dark brown eyes caught his and held their usual dull emptiness despite the candles lighting his desk brilliantly.

"If Madam Dillwyn is tending to the girl, what is the need for this immediate report? Is the girl in grave danger?" he asked, a look of having been bothered, and not appreciating it, crossing his face.

"Not that I know of, sir," he replied calmly, remembering to not break the man's gaze. "Madam Dillwyn sent me because the girl _appears_ to be a student."

"_Appears?_" he asked mockingly, dropping the quill from his left hand. "Either she is, or she isn't." His annoyance seemed to be doubling by the minute.

"Well, sir, she bears the Hogwarts crest on her robes and Gryffindor colors, but I've never seen anyone wearing clothes such as she." Only he could keep so calm and collected in front of Torin, and despite his effects, the Headmaster knew this, and even respected it.

"The crest on her robes? Not her house crest?" Torin began to ask, though ended up asking more to himself before mumbling, "Don't recall the last time the robes bore Hogwarts' crest."

Knowing better than to reply to something Torin said to himself, he stood there, quietly, waiting for the inevitable. However grumpy, temperamental, and otherwise unsociable the man was, Headmaster Torin never questioned Madam Dillwyn.

"Fine, fine," Torin grumbled, waving him towards the door. "Tell Madam Dillwyn I'll be there promptly." And with that Torin pushed back his chair and walked to the stand on which his heavy navy blue robes hung.

As the boy was about to close the door behind him however, Torin called out, "Oh, and wait for me there… I'm sure I'll have further questions for you Mister Dumbledore."

"Yes, sir."


	4. Eyes Shut Tight

**Eyes Shut Tight**

4

The flagstone was gone. It would be hard to not notice the difference between that and where Hermione now awoke. Her back was aching mildly, but the softness of the mattress beneath her was a welcome comfort. Come to mention it, so were the warm blankets she could feel under her fingertips.

It had been a dream after all. She was in the Infirmary like she had told herself. Even before she opened her eyes Hermione knew it, from the sheets, to the mattress, to the ever present smell of ointments and sterile bandages, and it brought a weak smile to her face.

Lifting her hands to rub her eyes, she found her muscles were still a bit tight in her left shoulder, so either Madam Pomfrey didn't know about it yet, or she hadn't been there very long. Opening her eyes, Hermione stared at the ruffled white cotton at her wrists. When in the world did Pomfrey get _these,_ she wondered. It was then she went to lift her head more and felt something was on it and reached up to feel some cap on her head bearing the same annoying ruffles.

She was sure Pomfrey had sniffed a few too many bottles of Pepperup Potion now.

Looking around, she found her bed surrounded by curtains on three sides, blocking her view from the owners of the muffled voices coming from the doorway to the Infirmary.

"Madam Pomfrey," she tried to call out, but found that the force of it caused her stomach to do summersaults so when she repeated it, she did so more quietly.

There was a momentary pause in the murmurings before a figure walked around the curtains, and it wasn't whom she expected.

"Ah, you're awake," the strange woman said with a smile as she bustled over to the nightstand by her bed to fetch her a small glass of water. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Hermione took the glass and emptied it, her eyes on the woman, who was dressed almost identically to herself, the whole time. "Where's Madam Pomfrey?"

Taking the empty glass from her, the woman paused and gave her a quizzical look. "Madam who?"

"Pomfrey," Hermione said again, "the medic."

Setting down the glass, the woman didn't look in the least affected. "Well my dear, I'm afraid I'm the medic, and I've never heard of a Pomfrey, other than Wilfred Pomfrey, the Hufflepuff I treated for a broken leg last week. My name is Madam Dillwyn."

Hermione quickly scanned her surroundings and, without a doubt, she was in the Infirmary, but then why was this woman calling herself the medic? Before she could question Madam Dillwyn further, the woman began questioning Hermione.

"Any pain in your chest?" she asked, quietly checking the dressing just below her left collarbone. Seeing it properly healed from the puncture wound it had suffered, she took it off as Hermione told her there was none. "Good. Any headaches, stomachaches?"

"My stomach is a bit queasy. If I speak too loudly, I feel nauseous."

Dillwyn nodded. "Ahh, that may have been expected after all you've been through, though I can't say anyone else has." Sighing, she walked over to the curtains and began pulling them back. "I'll be keeping you at least for the day to give your body time to settle. I doubt you'd be able to stand on your feet, nor am I willing to let you attempt it just yet."

Ready to ask Dillwyn what all she meant by _what she had been through_, Hermione found her opportunity dashed as the curtains were removed only to reveal a tall, rather creepy looking fellow with long salt and pepper hair, goatee, and whiskers walking towards her bedside. Joining him was a boy about her age, fairly tall himself, with auburn hair just long enough to brush his shoulders and the most amazing blue eyes. The boy had on a strange looking set of trousers and waistcoat peeking out of his robes, which bore the Gryffindor crest on the left breast, along with a Head Boy badge.

And at the sight of it, she felt a chill run through her.

A dream, just another dream… she told herself silently, for if what she was seeing were real, the absolute worst scenario she could think of would pale compared to this.

"Miss…" The man looked over a piece of parchment she could see through the back of well enough in the lamplight to see that it was her schedule that had been in her robe's' pocket still. "Granger, judging by this rather _full_ schedule, I can only assume you're intelligent enough deduce your predicament?" She barely had time to nod her head before the man continued. "I'm Headmaster Torin," he announced with a crooked smile that made her instantly predict she wasn't going to like this man very well.

"You were found in the Entrance Hall about two hours ago. This was found there as well." Torin pulled a small box out of his robes, opened it, and lowered it enough to show her the broken pieces of her Time-Turner, her blood dried on the mostly still intact top half.

Closing her eyes, Hermione braced herself to ask the question she knew had to be asked. "What is the date?"

"September 3rd, 1862."

She winced. Harry and Draco started their fight on September 15th, twelve days shy of 135 years. No wonder she felt like she had been on the world's worst roller coaster! There was enough spinning around if you went back only a few hours!

"Miss Granger."

Torin's sharp voice jolted her out of her reverie, causing her to snap her neck towards him so fast it hurt.

"Judging by the evidence before us," he motioned towards the box, her schedule in his other hand, and her clothes which she hadn't noticed in the chair just a few feet away, "you've had an accident with your Time-Turner and are _not_ from this period in time."

Hermione nodded as she rubbed her aching neck. "No sir, I am not. I'm from one hundred and thirty five years into the future actually."

The boy beside Torin blinked but then seemed to relax with this information, as if hearing it put his mind at ease in some way, for he stopped looking at her as if trying to decipher her the moment she spoke. Madam Dillwyn, however, let out a gasp in shock.

"You couldn't possibly…" Dillwyn began to stammer before being interrupted by Torin.

"I find it hard to believe as well, no Time-Turner could…"

"Yes it could," the boy interrupted, casually pointing towards the open box in Torin's hand. "Even with half of it smashed to pieces, it's clear her Time-Turner is nothing like the ones we have."

Torin looked into the box, his face twisting in concentration. "How do you figure that, Mister Dumbledore? It looks normal to me."

As the boy calmly pointed out the difference in the Time-Turner in the box and those just invented that they had been shown from the Ministry at the end of last term, Hermione's mind went numb. Staring at the boy as he spoke, she didn't hear a word that left his lips, her ears were ringing so loudly. Dumbledore. How had she not seen it? Only now that she had heard his name did she recognize that twinkle in his blue eyes as he looked up from the box only a second and caught her gaze. Hermione could feel herself beginning to panic.

Her hands shook, her breathing quickened, and all she could think was, I have to be dreaming, let me be dreaming… I can't be here!

Dillwyn noticed this sudden change and quickly conjured a cool wet rag and placed it on her forehead. "Headmaster, the poor girl's been through a lot and this can't be easy for her, perhaps you should make this short and leave her to rest." Though it was spoken softly, it had a note of finality in it.

"Indeed," was Torin's reply as Hermione diverted her eyes from _her_ Headmaster and fixed them on this strange one. "I have contacted the Minister and with his help, we will work a solution to your problem. In the mean time, you will remain here, in the Infirmary, away from prying eyes. Should word of this get out…" There was a hint of worry in his dark eyes as his words died off and his gaze suddenly fell to the pocket watch he had pulled out of his waistcoat pocket. "Minister Bones is expecting me, I'll return shortly," he added, looking at Madam Dillwyn before giving a slight nod of his head and sweeping out of sight.

Despite the cool rag on her forehead, Hermione felt sick to her stomach. She closed her eyes and willed these visions to disappear, leaving her in _her_ Infirmary with Madam Pomfrey, Harry and Ron at her bedside, not this younger, _much younger_, version of Dumbledore. Her Time-Turner sending her back over a century, it just wasn't possible, was it? The absurdity of it all.

With her eyes closed, she began to have a glimmer of hope that the silence surrounding her was a sign of her waking dream having dissipated, only to have such hopes dashed.

"Mister Dumbledore," Madam Dillwyn spoke softly as not to disturb the girl, her eyes on the boy causing her to miss the wince cross the face of her patient. "I trust I needn't tell you of the necessity of your discretion in regards to this situation. I'm sure I'm not the only one who has never heard of such a turn of events?"

Hermione could feel her eyes watering. The voice of the strange medic was still there, her hand coming to rest on the cool rag on her forehead, the pressure gently pressing the chill further into her flesh. As a tear slowly escaped her eyelid and rolled down her cheek, Hermione struggled to not let herself be overwhelmed with her situation, and not to open her eyes and see Dumbledore at her bedside. If she did, she'd certainly lose what little composure she had left.

With a nod of his head, Albus lifted his eyes from the single tear running down the girl's cheek to Madam Dillwyn who looked paler then he could ever recall.

"Good. Now… I must ask you to go and fetch Professor Price."

With a shocked look on his face, the boy hesitated. "But Madam Dillwyn, surely Headmaster Torin wouldn't want others…"

Lifting the rag off the girl's forehead as she dipped it in a basin of cool water on the table beside her, Madam Dillwyn interrupted, "Despite whatever hopes the Headmaster has, I fear the girl will be here for quite some time. Those ridiculous Time-Turners took the Ministry ten years to perfect enough as to not splinch people, imagine what that one of hers will take them, if what you said is true."

Having rung out the rag and placed it on the girl's forehead, she looked over at the Head Boy whose face was clearly concerned as he slowly nodded. "I'll get Professor Price," he said, lifting his eyes only long enough to acknowledge her presence before he turned and headed out to fetch his Head of House.

After he left the girl let out a small sob as her lip suddenly quivered. "I'm really here, aren't I?" she asked with a voice that trembled only slightly with the effort she must have been putting forth to keep herself in control, her eyes still being squeezed shut.

"I'm afraid so, child," she heard in response as that hand pressed the rag gently on her forehead again. "For now rest… sleep."

Yes, Hermione thought. Sleep.

Sleep, so I can finally wake up.


	5. Faint

**Faint**

5

His footsteps echoed down the corridor as he briskly walked towards the Ancient Runes classroom. Running would be highly frowned upon should he be discovered at this hour, though that possibility was highly unlikely given the clock chiming four in the morning as he rounded a corner. Professor Price wasn't going to be very pleased to be disturbed at this hour.

Entering the classroom, Albus quickly walked between the nearest rows of worn wooden desks to Price's office door. Reaching it, he knocked loudly, knowing his Head of House was most likely in bed in his chambers several yards from his office. After a minute or two he knocked again, louder this time, and silently prayed there wouldn't be a hasty detention as his reward for this disturbance.

Loud, heavy footsteps could be heard from the other side of the door before the lock slid and the door opened slowly and with an audible creak as Professor Price's half awakened face appeared accompanied by the candlelight from the candlestick in his free hand.

"Dumbledore, what in Circe's name are you doing here, waking me up in the wee hours of the morning looking like you've not a wink of sleep?" he asked, stifling a yawn as he threw open the door and grabbed the boy's arm, pulling him inside.

"I've not Professor, there's been…. an incident," Albus began, straightening his robes as Price released him and set the candle stick into an empty candelabra on his desk. "Madam Dillwyn asked me to fetch you."

"A student is injured?" he asked, running his fingers through his long sandy hair and pulling it back to tie it with a strip of tanned leather.

"Well, yes sir, a Gryffindor but…"

Price rolled his eyes as he pulled his robes off a hook that hung by the door to his chambers, donning it to cover his hastily thrown on trousers and shirt. "Of course it's a Gryffindor," he retorted tiredly, "if you've awoken _me_."

Albus tried to keep from getting his Head of House upset further as he knew of the man's temperament in the mornings. This early certainly wouldn't bode much better than breakfast. "But sir, she's not exactly from _this_ Hogwarts."

Having crossed the office to come to stand in the doorway next to Albus, Price stopped and whipped his head towards the boy. "What in the blazes do you mean, not from _this_ Hogwarts? What other Hogwarts is there!"

Use to Price's snapped responses, as he dealt with the man more often than most of his classmates given his position, the boy proceeded cautiously. "She's apparently from a future Hogwarts, having had an accident with a Time-Turner."

"_Time-Turner_," Price repeated, his curiosity now peaked. "The Ministry hasn't even released the first one into use, how can she have one?"

"Perhaps they are commonplace in her time?" the redhead offered with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"Hmm, perhaps." Price seemed to mull over this, looking more awake now that his mind was whirling with scenarios. "A Time-Turner… wouldn't that have put this more in Professor Avery's domain?" he began, more to himself than to Dumbledore. "Ah, but a Gryffindor. Best not involve the Slytherin."

Use to the clear division between his Head of House and that of Slytherin, Professor Avery, Dumbledore merely kept quiet and followed Price out of the classroom and down to the Infirmary once the man began the journey, his thoughts now to himself.

* * *

The doors to the Infirmary were open a crack when they returned and Price and Dumbledore entered and headed straight for the medic's office. "Madam Dillwyn…Madam Dillwyn…" Price immediately called upon finding the room empty.

"Yes, yes, Ambrose, I'm right here," she replied, setting an empty tray on the table by the door. "Good, you didn't take as long as usual."

Price cast the woman an annoyed glare but she ignored it as she always did and began to tell the Head of House all that she knew, including Albus when and where appropriate. Throughout the tale, Price's look went from one of disbelief to one of shocked acknowledgement.

"Well, it certainly gives us a cover for Miss Pendleworth," Price offered as he took a chair from in front of Dillwyn's desk and made himself comfortable.

"Indeed Ambrose, my thoughts exactly."

All three occupants turned their gaze to find Headmaster Torin in the doorway, several parchments in hand. "The Minister called in his best Unspeakable and as of now, they think it will take a year at best to find a possible solution to sending the girl back to her time. So, as of now, Miss Hermione Granger is a transfer student coming to us from private tutoring. The only Grangers we could trace are muggles, I can only assume the girl is a muggleborn, so we've no worry about other families questioning the girl's story. But yes, she will certainly address the problem of Miss Pendleworth. As Miss Granger was Head Girl in her time, it only makes sense to give the girl the same title now."

Walking over to Price, he handed him a parchment, one Albus recognized from only an hour ago. "Here is the girl's schedule. It's apparent why the child had a Time-Turner as she had three overlapping classes. Put together an appropriate schedule for her, though keep in mind what the school governor and her classmates would approve. I'm afraid an identical schedule would ruffle too many feathers."

Price nodded and looked over the parchment, his eyes widening in shock at some of the courses listed. Having peeked at the list, Albus knew which ones had drawn that reaction, after all, he had the same.

"Mister Dumbledore," Headmaster Torin broke into his thoughts, holding another parchment out to him, "as Head Boy and the one who discovered Miss Granger, I'm trusting you to help her in this transition. She'll no doubt need tutoring in the ways of our society and need someone who knows the true nature of her situation. You've always proven to be a wiser young man than is expected of your years, I expect you to demonstrate such wisdom now."

"Yes sir," he replied taking the parchment which outlined the new Head Girl's cover story.

"For now, I've excused you from all classes today so you may rest and prepare to meet Miss Granger tomorrow evening. I think she will be well enough to take supper in the Head Common room at 7?" he asked, casting a glance to Madam Dillwyn who nodded in the affirmative. "Good then, off to bed young man."

"Yes sir," he replied once again, pocketing the parchment, bowing his head to the faculty present and exiting the room quietly.

* * *

Her forehead no longer cold, her stomach no longer doing summersaults, Hermione sighed and slowly opened her eyes. The light of late, very late, afternoon was spilling in from the windows above her head and casting golden shadows on the opposite side of the Infirmary. The blankets were incredibly warm across her chest and suddenly feeling too warm for comfort, Hermione threw them down towards her waist.

And gasped.

Ruffled wrists.

Her heartbeat racing, she reached up and felt for the ruffled cap on her head from the disturbing dream from the night before and found it still firmly set about her head, her bushy hair peaking out from the sides.

Oh God.

No. _No, no, no, no, NO!_ This couldn't be. One hundred thirty five years…. in the past! And Dumbledore a student? No amount of fire whiskey could make this scenario funny.

"Ah, finally!"

Turning in the direction of the voice she saw Madam Dillwyn approaching, her hair now up in a stern bun under the white folded cap covering her forehead and her white cotton nightgown now replaced with a full hoop skirt with matching navy long sleeve blouse under a white apron, heavily starched. Oh, how she'd give anything to see Madam Pomfrey.

"I was beginning to think I'd have to Ennervate you dear, you've slept so soundly. Ah, but it's probably for the best. Your organs needed time to make the time adjustment." The medic went about pouring her a glass of water and handing it to her as she picked a large bundle up from the chair beside her bed.

"Thank you," Hermione said, taking the water and being grateful for the chill she felt as it slid down her throat. "What time is it?"

"About five dear." Lifting the bundles, she shook each item out and laid them out on the bed by her feet to reveal more clothing than Hermione had ever contemplated wearing, let alone at once. "I've already checked over you, and your vitals are all normal, but I'd still like to get your dressed and walk around a bit to be sure, so come on… sit up child."

Handing back the empty glass, Hermione pushed herself up and turned to let her feet dangle over the side of the bed. "Dressed… in all that?" she asked, eyeing the numerous pieces laid out beside her.

"Yes, Miss Granger, I'm afraid we've a bit stricter sense of propriety than _your_ time," the woman said, lifting a white pair of what looked very similar to pants, only the middle was split and it had a tie, a clear look of distain for her former dress on her face as Dillwyn met Hermione's gaze. "Judging by that look, I take it a little lesson is in order."

Twenty minutes, one breath-taking corset (literally), one chemise, one pantalets, two cotton stockings, four petticoats, one charmed hoop, skirt, blouse, tie, robes with Gryffindor crest, thirty shoe buttons, and one intricate hairdo later, Hermione was standing before a floor length mirror, taking shallow breaths and wondering how in God's name did her great great grandmother managed to _live_ sixty years in such a prison of cloth.

"I'm never going to manage all this alone," she murmured, turning her head back and forth and admiring the way the coif made her hair's bushiness less of a problem.

"Of course not, my dear, that's what house elves are for!" Dillwyn exclaimed, picking up the white cotton nightgown and cap off the bed and tossing them into a hamper a few feet away.

Hermione turned to the woman, feeling all twenty pounds of her clothing weighing down on her. "Are you serious?"

Madam Dillwyn shook her head and chuckled. "Miss Granger, no self respecting witch of this age dresses herself. Some of the more _progressive_ witches employ ladies maids to dress them. You don't honestly think we'd use magic to do all that? The corsets would likely cut us in half!" she laughed.

Hermione, however didn't. "As if it isn't already," she grumbled, trying her best to tug some leeway in to the confounded thing. Her lungs felt like they were in her throat.

"Alright, enough chatter, take a few turns about the room," Dillwyn instructed, lifting the watch hanging from the end of the chain around her neck and just as calmly releasing it.

"Turns? You mean walk around the room?" The look in response on the woman's face answered her question and Hermione silently turned and began to walk around, the feel of her skirts billowing out around her a strange sensation that she soon found required her to be conscious of how close she walked to objects. One brush against a bed frame and her skirts lifting to reveal her ankles, resulting in a tsk from Dillwyn made her roll her eyes and remind herself that the last thing she would want is too much attention if she was going to walk out of the Infirmary in this get up.

"Much better. You've corrected your posture quite well Miss Granger. Just a few things… always lead a man upstairs and follow him down the stairs, never turn down an offered arm as it is rude to do so, and let either a professor or Mister Dumbledore make your introductions as he is the only young man to currently know you. Ladies do not introduce themselves, nor do they fail to offer their hand to a gentleman upon introduction."

I'm going to need a notebook to keep all this straight, Hermione thought, nodding to Dillwyn to show she heard. Perhaps not retained it all to memory yet, but heard.

"Good, Mister Dumbledore will be here shortly to escort you to supper."

Hermione felt the world fall out from under her. "Dumbledore?"

Madam Dillwyn seemed to miss the panic in her voice. "Yes child, the boy who found you last night and saw to your safety. Ah, but you may not recall all of last night's events," she said to herself as an after thought. "Albus Dumbledore, our Head Boy, and also a Gryffindor, will be taking you to the Head Common room for supper to apprise you of the situation in private."

Wringing her hands, and finding breathing an even harder task than a moment before, Hermione felt for her wand in the concealed pocket of her overskirt, finding it there and feeling only the slightest bit comforted. "I already know where the Head Common room is," she offered, hoping to postpone seeing her former Headmaster as long as possible. After all, she had spent two weeks sharing it with Draco Malfoy, she knew very well its location had never changed since the late 1850s. _Hogwarts A History_ was still proving useful.

"I should say not!" the medic exclaimed, scandal written on her face. "Without another young lady or gentleman to escort you, unheard of! You will wait for Mister Dumbledore." Her tone was stern and brooked no argument.

Hermione didn't offer one as she flopped into an empty chair with a defeated sigh, causing Dillwyn to cast her a glare. It was more and more apparent that expected behaviors, especially that of her sex, had changed greatly by the time Hermione was born. Knowing this didn't make her like it any more in the least.

If muggleborns had it rough, a female one with the liberal views of one from a century in the future certainly wasn't going to have it any easier.

As if she needed more fuel on her fire of _that which is making this nightmare a personal hell_, the exact person she wished to avoid chose that exact moment to appear, twinkling blue eyes and all.

And Hermione suddenly felt faint for the second time in her life.


	6. Calm before the Storm

**Calm before the Storm**

6

He was, at once, concerned. The girl, Miss Granger, looked ready to faint. Her face had suddenly gone two shades of pale and her breathing became noticeably labored.

"Madam Dillwyn," he said hurriedly as he rushed to the girl's chair, taking her hand in his as he knelt beside her, Dillwyn close behind. "Miss Granger?" he asked as her gaze slowly turned to him and then quickly began to fade as her eyes rolled back. Madam Dillwyn quickly pulled a small vial from her apron pocket and held it under the girl's nose.

Hermione felt herself slipping, her vision blurring, that is until the most retched smell known to man assaulted her senses and she shot upright in the chair. "Dear Lord!" she shouted, her eyes tearing over as she tried desperately to wipe the smell from under her nose.

Madam Dillwyn grinned and pocketed the vial of salts. Hermione then realized that she must have been about to faint, but… faint? She had never in all her life fainted! But then, she had never been wearing this ridiculous corset that made even normal breathing difficult. It was no wonder she nearly went out when she was hyperventilating. Hyperventilating due to the man, er, _young_ man currently kneeling beside her chair, holding her hand, and asking if she was alright. Oh, Merlin help her!

Numbly, she nodded her head and gently tugged her hand from his grasp. Were she more attentive to the situation, she might have noticed the slight blush that passed over his cheeks as he quickly got to his feet like the floor had suddenly burnt him.

"Here," Dillwyn intoned, handing a small vial, whose colored glass Hermione couldn't see through well enough to tell what was inside, to Dumbledore. "You may have need of it again. I'm afraid she's been easily excitable."

Hermione opened her mouth to make a retort about her never being easily excitable, but quickly realized how that reaction wouldn't help her argument. Instead, she made a show of calming herself, straightening her skirts and getting to her feet. Out of place and out of time she might have been, but she was a Gryffindor, regardless. She wasn't about to become some feeble, fragile, porcelain doll because of this turn of events, if anything she'd do her damnedest to prove the exact opposite. She was strong and would remain so.

Even if seeing Albus Dumbledore standing there with school robes on and those forever twinkling blue eyes made her more uncomfortable than seeing Malfoy at the opposite end of their common room couch.

"I'm quite ready to leave," she said, casting the medic a look that screamed, _I'll show you who's excitable_. To her shock and dismay, she turned to face Dumbledore whose face now bore a genuine warm smile. _Damn that twinkling!_

"May I?" he asked, holding his arm out to her.

Keeping her face as stoic as possible, Hermione swallowed nervously and hooked her hand around his arm. As he lead her through the corridors and to the Common room that the Head Boy and Girl shared, one train of thought kept repeating through her mind.

I'm on the arm of Albus _more middle names than is absolutely necessary_ Dumbledore. My Headmaster, vanquisher of Grindelwald, and _very_ old man.

Okay, not right _now_, but he will be.

And for God's sake, don't smile at those eyes!

* * *

The Head Common room hadn't changed much from what she remembered. In fact, the same brown velvet couch sat before the fire, only looking far newer than she recalled. How in the world even a charmed piece of furniture could survive that long baffled the know-it-all, most charms would have dwindled after a century.

"Where is your Head Girl?" Hermione found herself saying suddenly as he led her to the table by the window, two chairs already waiting for them.

"Yes, well, that's something I'm afraid we'll need to discuss," he replied, pulling out the chair for her and helping her tuck in, which she was at once grateful for as the multitude of skirts she had been enveloped in would have made it impossible on her own.

Laying her hands in her lap so she could wring them out of his view, she calmly asked, "What exactly do you mean discuss?"

Dumbledore sat down across from her and sighed. "Miss Granger," Hermione forced herself not cringe at hearing such a familiar voice say her name in that familiar way but from this young man's face. "You are to be our Head Girl."

"Me?" she almost chuckled. "That makes my being here sound so… permanent." She wanted to laugh this off. Surely it would take time to reverse this little mishap, but really, long enough to cause her to take someone else's Head Girl duties?

The look on Dumbledore's face quickly stamped out any hope she had of a quick return to her own time. "Headmaster Torin has already met with Minister Bones and his best Unspeakable. They…" he paused and seemed to be looking for the best way to tell her this. He had brought his hand up to the surface of the table and had clasped them together as he leaned forward slightly, a position all to familiar to Hermione, and caused her to swallow nervously once again and find her throat going dry. "You see, Time-Turners have just recently been perfected enough for wizards to safely use them. We only have two in existence and the most they will do is allow for two hours of travel."

"Two hours? But mine can do…"

"Far more, as I guessed." He finished her statement and despite the calmness with which he sat there bringing everything he knew to light for her, she could see a touch of uncertainty in his eyes, something rarely seen in the powerful wizard. "They figured it would take them a year at best to find a way to send you back to your time."

Hermione lifted her elbows to rest on the table and cradled her face in her hands. "A year," she murmured, tears coming faster than she could hold them back. "A _year_." Not willing to let Dumbledore see her reacting this way, she suddenly bolted out of the chair and stood with her back to him, wiping her eyes as she thought of Harry, Ron, Ginny, her parents, all those she loved that would surely be missing her and… weren't even born yet. How was she to go a year in this time without them, how was she to return and hope to live a normal life? She would change by that time, they will have changed by that time.

Still wiping her eyes, as her thoughts flooded through her mind, Hermione didn't hear Dumbledore get up and join her at her side until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Jumping from the sudden contact, she turned to find him standing there, a white linen handkerchief in his outstretched hand. With a murmured thanks, she took the offered item and spent the next few silent minutes drying her eyes and doing her damnedest to pull herself together. Crying wouldn't change things and neither would feeling sorry for herself.

Looking back at Dumbledore who had stood beside her the whole time, silently waiting for her to compose herself, she realized that she wasn't entirely alone in this. She did know Dumbledore, even if he didn't know her yet. She already knew she could trust him and at least in that she could find some comfort.

"I'm sorry," she quietly apologized, turning to face him, her gaze having to be tilted up to meet his due to the difference in height. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that."

With a smile he replied, "No apologies needed. It's a shock, I understand. You've taken it much better than I would have expected."

Hermione felt herself give a small chuckle. "Better? Do I want to know what you were expecting?"

Dumbledore grinned and the twinkle in his eyes seemed to double for a second. "I had the smelling salts ready in case you fainted on me," he said, lifting the vial up and shaking it.

She couldn't help herself, being so up to bantering with Harry and Ron, she immediately replied, "I'm sorry to disappoint you and ruin your evening's entertainment."

He burst into laughter that actually caused a tear to escape one eye and Hermione found his laughter contagious.

Pulling another handkerchief from his pocket, Dumbledore wiped his eyes and gestured towards the table. "I see you will prove to be entertaining nonetheless," he said with a warm smile as he helped her sit down once again.

"Alright," she said, taking a deep breath, feeling more like herself despite the current situation, and ready to get down to business, "so I'm to be here for a long time, and I'm to be Head Girl. What all do I need to know?"

A look of admiration passed Dumbledore's face as he cocked an eyebrow and reached in the pocket for a set of parchments. "Now you sound more like Head Girl." Hermione grinned as he opened the parchments and scanned them. "First, I suppose we should go over your history. May I ask, are you muggleborn?"

Taken back for a moment, she tilted her head, replying, "Yes, and why do you ask?"

"Oh, please, I don't mean to intrude, it's just, Minister Bones couldn't find any wizarding family with your surname, so they assumed you were of muggle parentage." Dumbledore looked a mite embarrassed and Hermione found it rather refreshing. She was use to Dumbledore being seemingly omnipotent. Apparently his younger self wasn't as all knowing, or as self-confident.

"Yes, well…anyways, Minister Bones and Headmaster Torin thought it best you be a transfer student. Your parents being against a coed school at first and having you privately tutored until, er, their deaths…" was she imagining things or was Dumbledore sweating slightly? "…at which time you, being of age, decided to enroll at Hogwarts."

It must have been the part about her 'deceased parents' that had him worrying about her reaction again. She could see how someone else might jump off the handle at such a story line they would undoubtedly have to repeat, but Hermione saw the wisdom in it. No parents to look for and question, very plausible reason for private tutoring given the times… it was believable. Hell, the truth wasn't believable; in comparison, this seemed like gospel!

"Privately tutored, parents deceased, enrolled here of my own accord. Alright then, what else?" she asked, ticking off the story to him as she would while revising for an exam. Dumbledore blinked and scanned the parchment again before answering.

"My father being a school governor, he has agreed to help in that he has covered your expenses and has concocted the story that he invited you to stay this past summer in order for us to make acquaintance, giving me cause to act as your escort." His face reddened a touch and she found it hard not to grin. A lot shyer he seemed as well.

"But wouldn't your family have had guests at some point this summer? And what about your brother?" The moment it slipped out, she froze. His brother. She wasn't suppose to know him, let alone know he had a sibling.

"Aberforth? You know of my brother?" he questioned, suddenly setting the parchment aside and leaning forward.

Shite.

All knowing he might not be yet, but a fool he wasn't.

Luckily, Hermione had had several years of covering for the Trio under her belt. "Madam Dillwyn mentioned something about you probably introducing me to your brother later." Nice recovery, she thought, hoping he took the bait.

"Oh," he blinked. "oh, yes… tomorrow perhaps," he said, taking her answer as if it were the honest truth. Sitting back, he answered her first question. "My father hasn't entertained since my mother passed, and Aberforth was at our Uncle's all summer, helping on his farm." Hermione nodded and briefly wondered if that was the start of all the tidbits she heard of Aberforth Dumbledore and a goat.

Finishing looking over the top parchment and apparently pleased with all he conveyed, Dumbledore set it aside. "Headmaster Torin planned to announce your arrival at supper this evening, so you've no need to worry about awkward introductions before the whole school." News to which Hermione released a relieved sigh, something Dumbledore didn't fail to notice and smile at.

The thought suddenly striking her, Hermione held up a hand as he went to offer her another parchment. "Wait… how is it that I can be your Head Girl? Don't you already have one?"

Dumbledore set the parchment down on the table and cleared his throat. "Yes, we did, but it came to light the day before arriving back for the start of term that she, that is, Miss Pendleworth was…" he was tripping over his words now and Hermione found that rather odd. "… that is to say, her condition…"

"Yes…" she probed, waving him to spit it out.

"She was ruined."

"Ruined?" Hermione repeated. "As in…?"

Dumbledore looked annoyed that he was going to have to spell this out for her. "Yes, _ruined_…" he closed his eyes a moment when it was clear she had no idea what he was trying to say, and blurted, "with child."

Hermione's mouth dropped. "She was pregnant?"

"To put it bluntly, yes," he replied, looking ready to pass over this conversation. "She was stripped of her title and removed from enrollment."

"They expelled her?" Hermione almost shouted, indignant over some girl being kicked out simply because she had made a mistake.

Dumbledore looked as shocked at her thinking the girl wouldn't be expelled. "I'm afraid a girl in her condition could not be allowed to continue her studies here as her doing so would say the school condoned her behavior that had left the girl in such a state in the first place. Luckily, the father of her child has already left Hogwarts and was spared the embarrassment."

Her mouth was still open in shock. She had apparently stumbled upon a much stricter Hogwarts than she expected. Yes, she knew the time period had different views towards women, but she had felt the wizarding world was more progressive in that they had a female Minister well before any muggle government had.

"Here is your schedule," Albus said, holding the parchment out to her again, eager to change the subject. He had known Miss Pendleworth since they were first years and had felt disappointed in her once her condition had come to light. She had been a dear friend and now he felt like the closest thing to a sister had been torn from him.

Miss Granger read over her schedule and her look slowly became one of confusion. He thought he might have to explain further, so he sat back and waited for her questions. Already he had learned the girl was full of them.

"Practicals? And where is Defense Against the Dark Arts? And Potions?"

"Practicals, short for Practical Arts for Home and Family, all female students are required to take Practicals," he began his explanation, noting the way her face was darkening but soldiering on despite it, "Dark Arts and Potions are strictly for the male student body, females aren't allowed to study them."

The girl mightn't be a red head like himself, but she certainly had the temper of one.

"WHAT!"

* * *


	7. Choose your Battles

**Choose your Battles**

7

"_WHAT!_" she bellowed, standing so quickly, her chair fell back to the hardwood floor with a clatter. "Not _allowed_? Are you kidding me?" Her hands were balled up fists and her schedule was dying a horrible death by strangulation in the right one. Were it alive, he could imagine the choking sounds it would now be making. But then, there _was_ a choking sound…

"Well, I never!"

"Indeed!"

Both their gazes whipped towards the fireplace to find the portraits of two former professors suddenly seated in their respective chairs that only moments ago had been vacant. For once, something she found familiar didn't surprise her one bit. Same velvet couch, same annoying chaperones.

"Oh shut it! This is a private conversation that does not concern you, and as you can plainly see we are not doing anything inappropriate! So if you don't mind, _shove off!_" she shouted, tempted to hurl the tightly wadded up schedule at them just for good measure.

The wizards' mouths fell open in indignation before they grunted and turned their attention to the parchments beside them.

Albus, on the other hand, stood there with blue eyes wide in shock at seeing this girl who previously showed such restraint and poise suddenly spit venom at the nosy pair of portraits. For a fleeting moment, he was reminded of Medusa and almost expected to see the old wizards' portraits freeze for all time under her gaze. By the time this thought passed through him, he felt a burning sensation and turned to find the heat of Hermione's gaze fallen on him.

It was rather amusing really.

"Yes, _not allowed_. I've no idea why they would have allowed you to study them in the future, they're totally unfitting subjects for the feminine mind." His tone was cordial and light, as if they were discussing the weather over tea, not some heated subject, even if the flames were coming from only one side. There was no reason for him to not be frank.

For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger felt the urge to slap Albus _bloody _Dumbledore to within an inch of his life.

Judging by the look on Miss Granger's face, he was extremely close to feeling the inside of her palm. And for some reason, Albus found himself smiling. Unlike sweet, demure Miss Pendleton, Miss Granger was proving to be a more spirited companion. But of course, based on the sudden darkening of her face, smiling wasn't the wisest course of action. Albus coughed and calmly backed a step saying, "Now Miss Grang..."

Hermione cut him off and advanced on him, "Look, _Dumbledore_, you might _think_ the feminine mind isn't cut out for Potions or Dark Arts, but I assure you, I wasn't called the brightest witch of my age for nothing. I was the top in _every_ class, and that includes Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I want to continue those classes." By now she stood a few inches from him, the hem of her skirts crunched against his calves. "I _will_ continue those classes."

She might have looked hell bent on getting her way, but she didn't know the Headmaster. "Miss Granger," the girl glared harder at him upon those words and he honestly had no idea why it should evoke quite a response, "I'm afraid Professor Price already argued enough with the Headmaster over letting you take Runes and Transfiguration. You're the only girl he's agreed to allow into those classes. I don't think you realize exactly how much ridicule you'll receive for those two courses alone," he offered, hoping giving the girl some perspective would calm her. A little. He might like spirit, but not a hex to the face.

To her credit, she did seem to deflate a little. "Runes and Transfiguration? Professor… er..."

"Price, yes, our Head of House and Runes teacher," he helped.

"Price," she shook her head as if knocking the information into place "fought to get me into those classes? He must not be as… biased as most everyone would seem." Her voice more to herself at the end, she seemed to drift a moment in her thoughts before catching his gaze once again, a desire for understanding in her eyes. "Just what classes do they find appropriate for girls here?"

Remaining herself in this cursed time was one thing, trying to completely turn it upside down just because it didn't agree with her would be another, one she knew better than to attempt. Despite the way it had her stomach falling in despair, she was going to have to choose her battles, and as it seemed, there was at least one professor, and a wizard at that, who would support her. Hermione had, in a way, already won her first battle; best not to risk losing the spoils just yet.

Albus, seeing her coming back down to earth, walked over and righted her chair, offering it to her again though she waved off his attempt to help her tuck in. "Arithmancy, Divination, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, and Practicals," he listed taking his own seat again. "I've no idea what Price said to convince him of your being capable of Runes and Transfiguration, but I'm willing to venture that if you don't hold up to the Headmaster's expectations, he'll make Professor Price regret ever talking him into it."

"I knew I wasn't going to like Torin," she mumbled, causing Dumbledore to chuckle.

"Few of us do."

Smiling weakly, she looked up at him and he felt his own mouth turning up. He felt for her, he really did. Not only was she in a different time, but alone, and being forced into confines she apparently didn't have in her time. He could only imagine what such a thing would make him feel.

"This is going to take some getting use to," she remarked, putting a hand to her stomach and trying to take a slightly deeper breath. "And I do mean more than this cage."

Albus smiled and shook his head. "I take it women in your time don't confine themselves in corsets. Surely they don't go about…" A loud cough from the fireplace interrupted him and he turned to find one of the portraits glaring at him as if he had been inspecting her corset and not commenting on it.

Hermione giggled and reached for the glass of pumpkin juice that had appeared on the table with the rest of their meal. After taking a sip, she set the glass down and leaned forward a bit, whispering to Dumbledore as he turned away from the portrait and began to unfold his napkin. "I see he hasn't changed in over a hundred years."

"He's still there in your time?" he asked, buttering a roll. "You haven't ripped him from the wall?"

Chuckling she sat back and reached for her own napkin. "Not that I didn't try." Dumbledore laughed and bit the roll in half. Smoothing out the white linen, she added, "Just so you know, if you take your wand to them, you get a rather nasty jolt."

"I'll take that under advisement," he replied with those damn twinkling eyes again and the thought suddenly crossed her mind that perhaps one wouldn't get that jolt now, as it might now have been her to plant that idea in the future headmaster's head. Oh, this time travel thing was going to be trickier than she thought. How was she to get through a year here without influencing _something?_ She'd be a fool to think she'd manage not tainting the time line in someway, but she could do her best to prevent as much of it as possible, and that, she knew, was going to be the hardest part of her stay here.

Silence fell as they ate, Hermione finding herself filling quicker than usual when her plate was only half cleaned and she could take no more without depriving herself of the little lung space she already possessed. Setting her utensils aside, she tried to breath a sigh but found it almost impossible. "I'll never finish a meal with this contraption on," she grumbled, drawing his attention. "Tell me, how do women in this time eat enough to stay alive? There must be a trick to it."

With a chuckle, Albus wiped his mouth before replying. "Well, I must say, I don't recall seeing a lady eating quite as heartily as you have just now, but I do find it a nice change. I honestly can't see how one survives eating like a bird."

"I wondered that too, until I put this ridiculous thing on. Now I wonder how I'm even to breathe without losing consciousness." Hermione tried to wiggle the corset into a more comfortable position, but only made matters worse causing her breath to hitch as she winced.

Seeing her discomfort and frustration, Albus smiled lightly and set his napkin on the table beside his empty plate. "Miss Granger," he noted the slight contortion in her face at the address and decided to look into the matter later, "today must have been trying for you. One can't adjust to all the changes in a matter of hours, so perhaps it would be best if you retired and freed yourself from..." He coughed and gestured towards her corset, much to the displeasure of the eldest professor who harrumphed from his frame as Hermione smiled weakly and nodded.

Albus walked over and pulled back her chair, offering his hand to aid her to her feet and after a moment of her eyes laying on it, took it and got to her feet. "Go rest and we'll speak again at breakfast. I'll request it in here so we'll have a little time to go over your concerns before class."

Helping her to the door to her rooms, Hermione only gave a fleeting thought to the fact that her hand was once again in her headmaster's as she just wanted to make it in through the doorframe with what little air was left in her. No matter how much her hand touching his screamed for her attention, her desperate need to get out of that damned corset was foremost in her mind. Grabbing the frame and pulling her hand from Dumbledore's grasp, she smiled at him. "Thank you and goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replied as the door was closed in front of him. Sighing he turned around, gathered his books from the couch and as he reached the door to this own rooms, heard a loud intake of breath followed by an exclamation of _Thank God_, causing him to chuckle as he closed his own door behind him.


	8. Vipers and Alpha Males

_**A/N:** kateydidnt asked about Hermione being ridiculed in Transfiguration if Dumbledore had been given his examination by a witch, and though I replied to her review, I figured some of you may have asked the same question. I imagine the wizarding world having the same constraints on women as its muggle counterpart in the Victorian period. Despite these prejudices, there were women who fought against convention and paved the way for all women, and witches, of our time. Based on this, I'm not trying to dispell the female Ministers of Magic or other professional woman known at this time, but remain somewhat faithful to the challenges faced by these women and the prejudices of the society in which they lived. As it is an underlying thread of the fic, I'm afraid that for now, that's all the explanation I can give._

**Vipers and Alpha Males**

8

Waking the next morning in the Head Girl's bedroom, Hermione found that any fleeting hopes of waking up to find herself in her own time had already dashed by the time she had rubbed her eyes open. It was no surprise to her to find the plain black robes with the Gryffindor crest on the left breast hanging over the side of a chair right were she had left it the night before.

Sighing, she got out of bed, her long white cotton nightgown and cap identical to the ones she wore in the Infirmary. The blasted thing might look ridiculous, but she had to admit, it kept her hair from getting into a huge tangled mess as it usually did.

Entering her bathroom, she was again pleased to see she hadn't dreamt the plumbing from the night before. At least wizards were advanced in _something_. Quickly, she undressed and began her morning routine, which would have a new aspect to it once she finished… being helped to dress. Though she still didn't agree with house elf labor, she knew she wasn't getting back into that torture devise they called a corset without help. Not only did she suck up her midsection, but her pride as well.

Upon finishing getting dressed and having her hair put up in another intricate coif, Hermione stepped out into the Common room to find Dumbledore already sitting at the table, reading a Transfiguration text as he waited for her.

"Good morning Miss Granger," he greeted her warmly, closing the book and stacking it with others on the table, no longer oblivious to the way she cringed slightly at the formal address that was still making the situation awkward for her. Perhaps now would be a good time to remark on that?

"Please," she began, joining him at the table to find a stack of books awaiting her as well. "Call me Hermione. I'm use to only my professors calling me Miss Granger."

Dumbledore was a little shocked by this. "I'm not sure that would be entirely appropriately. Use of such an intimate address is reserved for those intended or related."

Hermione was going to scream if she had to hear that damned familiar voice calling her Miss Granger while she had to look at that young face, and live next door to him. "Please, you know I'm use to different social interactions than this time period, I'll go mad if _everyone_ calls me Miss Granger. Please… would calling me Hermione be that horrid?"

His face softened and he took her hand, cupping his over it. At least that solved one mystery. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel so uncomfortable. I didn't consider your position. If it will make things easier for you, I'll call you Hermione in private." Hermione visibly relaxed at this. "But, I must continue to address you as Miss Granger in public or gossip will ensue."

"Alright," she agreed. "Thank you…"

"Albus," he offered. "I assume you wouldn't be use to using formality in private either. Just remember that in public…"

Hermione smiled, "You're Mister Dumbledore. I'll remember." Feeling like she had just won battle number two, her spirits lifted, if only a little, as she unfolded her napkin as breakfast appeared, causing Albus to move their books aside.

"Looking back over your schedule, I see that Professor Price must have had a hand in writing it as we have the same classes, save Practicals, Potions, and Dark Arts. I'm afraid you'll be entirely on your own for Practicals, but I do have a friend who may be willing to escort you to Runes."

"Escort me? Why would I need," Hermione looked up and with one look at Albus' face realized her mistake, "Girls are to be escorted everywhere at this time, aren't they?" With a nod of his head, she groaned and stuffed a piece of toast into her mouth.

Intrigued, Albus set the parchments aside for a moment. "You really aren't use to such social proprieties are you? Do women in your time truly go about as they please and study Dark Arts?"

Hermione laughed after washing down the bit of dry toast with some pumpkin juice. "We're social equals, well, as men and women go, I'm afraid there's still some muggle born prejudice."

"Equals? You jest! Next you'll be telling me women go around in trousers!"

Hermione felt her face growing warm, but held her tongue a whole minute to try and stave off her anger before it got the better of her. Dumbledore was the product of a different time, a different mindset. The fight for women's rights wasn't won over night. Instead, she felt her face cool slightly and with as little edge to it as possible, she calmly replied, almost under her breath, "We do."

Had she looked up, Hermione would have seen an auburn eyebrow cock up on his face as he tucked that bit of information away. Women in trousers. Albus found himself pondering the image of her in trousers the rest of their quiet breakfast. He was sure that temper of hers would show itself once more had she known the reason for his smile.

Across the table, Hermione was calming even more, her attention to eating diverting her thoughts from the smiling young man in front of her, though she had the eerie feeling those smiles dealt with her in same way, and something told her she'd rather not know how.

Finishing his cup of tea, Albus broke the silence as he handed her her schedule. "We have Transfiguration first. Professor Branchusi is strict about tardiness, so we best be on our way." She nodded and quickly downed the rest of her tea, taking the parchment in her free hand as she did so. Albus grabbed his books and held out his arm. "Hermione"

Tucking her books under her other arm, Hermione swallowed nervously as she took his offered arm. "Let's go…. Albus." The name almost got stuck in her throat. It was becoming harder and harder to connect that young face to that old name. But before she could think on that much longer, they were in the corridor, in a sea of black robes.

* * *

As they reached the stairs, Albus caught sight of just the person he needed to speak to and reached in his waistcoat pocket to retrieve the slip of parchment now shaped like a small butterfly he had prepared before Hermione had awoken. Opening his hand he blew on it gently and sent it flapping over to the red headed young man about one flight below them.

"Mister Dumbledore, what are you doing?" Hermione asked curiously as she watched him produce the paper insect and sent it flying.

Albus grinned and readjusted his books, which had started to slip. "All will be clear in a moment."

The butterfly reached its target and began mussing the boy's hair until he snatched it out of the air, took one look at it and shook his head opening it. After reading the short note he took the last few steps of the flight he was on and ducked into the nearest corner. "This way Miss Granger," Albus said directing her towards the corner.

"T' what do I owe the 'onor, Albus?" he asked in a heavy Irish brogue, giving a mock bow as he handed back the note to him.

"Eoghan, I'd like you to meet Miss Hermione Granger," she curtsied as she had observed other girls doing in the corridors and Eoghan took her hand and lightly kissed the air above it. "Miss Granger, this is Mister Eoghan Riley, a friend and relation of mine."

The young man chuckled, "Distant relation actually, Miss Granger, but we've been raised like cousins."

"Nice to meet you, relation or not, Mister Riley," Hermione replied warmly.

"Eoghan, Miss Granger has just joined us from private tutelage. She was a guest of my father's this past summer and I offered her my services as escort when she arrived."

Eoghan grinned and flung his book strap over a shoulder. "Aye, and so that's why ye couldn't make it out to see me this summer? Too busy being the cordial host?"

Hermione bit a chuckle at the insinuation and almost coughed to cover it upon seeing Albus' face redden. "Old friend, I assure you my intentions have always been proper."

The other boy laughed and knocked his elbow against Albus' side. "I's just jokin'," he turned and caught her gaze, "Ever' one knows Albus here is the epitome of prim and proper. You've no better man's arm to take Miss Granger."

"I already feel likewise Mister Riley," she replied with a smile, loving the way Albus seemed to loose his sense of speech for a moment. Who would have thought so much fun was to be had at a future headmaster's expense?

"Right, well… Eoghan, would you be so kind as to escort Miss Granger to Runes this morning? I don't think it wise to leave her to her own means." As he said this, a tall dark haired young man with the Slytherin crest on his robes walked by causing a slight drop in the temperature of the corridor, or at least, Hermione could have sworn she felt it drop.

Eoghan's eyes followed the boy around a corner before meeting their gazes again. "Aye, I agree. I'll escort Miss Granger to Runes and introduce her to Eileen at lunch. I don' think even walking alone to Practicals is wise right now."

"Thank you Eoghan," Albus said, dropping his arm from her grasp long enough to shake the other red heads hand. "See you in class."

"Aye," he replied, nodding his head towards Hermione again with a grin, "Until later Miss Granger."

"Mister Riley," she replied with a slight nod of her own as she wrapped her hand around Albus' arm again and watched Eoghan walk briskly down the corridor. "He was rather nice."

"Yes, but he can also be quite the jester. You'll find his twin sister a little more level headed."

"Like you?" she questioned with a grin.

Albus grinned and stood up straight much like a peacock, "Of course." Then he led her towards the transfiguration classroom.

* * *

From the doorway, she could tell this wasn't going to be easy. Even from that distance, she saw how the room was already divided, Slytherin on one side, Gryffindor the other. Albus must have sensed her reluctance as every male face turned to watch them enter. Her grip on his arm tightened, to which he whispered, "That fierce determination you demonstrated last night would be useful at the moment."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione's grip loosened a little. She had been given a privilege no other girl in Hogwarts received. She'd be damned if she didn't jump back to the top of the class just to wipe the looks off her classmates' faces. A lioness she might be, but she had jumped into a den of vipers and alpha males. Even with Albus there to stand beside her, Hermione knew this was going to be difficult.

Taking the seat that a fellow Gryffindor quickly vacated once Albus had arrived at it with her on his arm, Hermione pulled her text from the stack she had carried and prepared a parchment and quill from a leather portfolio he had offered to lend her.

One could hear a pin drop in the room, that is, until Professor Branchusi walked into the room, quickly stepped up to the podium at the front of the classroom and immediately cast his gaze onto Hermione.

"Miss Granger," he began, a tone instantly warning her that this man was not going to be pleased to have to instruct her. "I can only hope your _tutors_ have sufficiently prepared you for this course. I'm afraid changing doilies into hatboxes will not be in my syllabus."

Her grip tightening on her quill until she heard it beginning to crack, Hermione gritted her teeth and forced herself to smile at the insufferable man. "I assure you, Professor, I will have no difficulty in keeping up with your instruction," she replied with a forced sweet tone.

"Indeed, for I won't be slowing our pace for you, _Miss_."

Albus looked between his professor and Hermione and judging by the way she refused to look away from the former Slytherin, decided the girl just might go on to prove a few people wrong in their assumptions.

He found himself hoping earnestly that she would.


	9. Missing Incense

**Missing Incense**

9

The victory had been short lived. Professor Branchusi had been ruthless in his questioning, quizzing her on things his seventh years hadn't even touched upon yet in an effort to trip her up, but she had one advantage. There had been advances in Transfiguration since the 19th century and what they saw as being N.E.W.T. level was mostly things they had covered in her last two years. But what didn't work in her favor was that most of what she had read about in her seventh year Transfiguration text was only seen as theory and shaky theory at best in this time. Once Branchusi hit upon the 'theoretical' he was able to debunk every one of her remarks, for at their time, he was an expert in the field and her, a mere witch.

"I can't believe that man!" she raved as they left the classroom, her attention still so fixed on the events of class that Albus had to take her hand and wrap it around his arm for her and do his best to get her out of earshot of the professor.

"Honestly Miss Granger, had you merely submitted to his conjecture and admitted your limited knowledge into the theoretical concepts he presented, you would have been spared most of this humiliation," he offered, his voice lowered and his eyes scanning the corridor for the possible audience she was attracting.

Hermione stopped and glared at him. "My _limited_ knowledge? Albus," he and several others within earshot widened their eyes in shock. "Mister Dumbledore," she corrected herself hurriedly then lowered her voice to match his own; "I assure you that my knowledge of the 'theoretical' concepts is more than theory, its _fact_ in my time!"

He looked about, spotted an area in which they could talk, and steered her towards a corner far from the bustle of the other students. "Hermione, it may be fact in your time, but you must remember that while you are in this time, you must not bring more attention to yourself than is absolutely necessary. Have you any idea what could happen due to your presence _alone_ in this era?"

Hermione sighed deeply, released his arm, and pressed her back against the cool stone of the wall. "I'm no fool, Albus, I know my remaining here brings with it more risk each minute, but I've no alternative. What was I to do? Act the demure, air headed, weak female he was trying to prove me to be?" she began raising her voice, causing him to shush her.

It was clear to him that Hermione could indeed handle herself better than most witches he knew, so long as her intelligence wasn't insulted. "Not weak and never air headed, but demure would have at least gotten him off your back for a time." She glared at him again. "Look, we have to meet Eoghan at the end of the corridor; we can discuss this later in the Common room, alright?"

"Fine," she replied, adjusting her books and taking his arm again before he had a chance to offer it.

At the end of the corridor Eoghan stood leaning against the wall, his pocket watch in his palm. "Take ye that long ta get here from Transfig? Albus, ye must be getting old."

"Not at all," he replied, lifting his arm up to signal for her to release him and take Eoghan's arm. "I'll meet you at lunch, Miss Granger" he added before nodding at the pair and heading down the stairs towards Potions at a pace that bordered on a run.

Holding out his arm for Hermione, Eoghan smiled and flung his book strap over his shoulder. "Shall we be going Miss Granger?" No sooner than she had taken his arm he was leading her through the corridors at as nearly as fast a pace. Silently she berated herself for causing such a delay, for the last thing she needed was to be late her first day of classes. Already the impression she was giving was anything but stellar.

* * *

Reaching the Runes classroom, Hermione felt another ball of dread well up in her stomach. All men. At least here the class seemed more pleasant, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, which was Eoghan's house. Still, far too many of the men cast a look like she was intruding upon their territory and the pit of lions and circling ravens were ready to feast on the sacrifice… her.

"Mister Riley," she asked quietly as she clung to his arm as he led her further into the room, "would you mind terribly if I sat with you?"

He chuckled and pointed to a pair of empty desks side by side. "Miss Granger, the last t'ing I would allow you ta do is sit alone." Relieved, Hermione released his arm and sat down beside him, thanking him and Albus for not leaving her to the wolves in her second trial of the day.

"By the way, just so's ye know, Professor Price there ain't much warmer than Branchusi in public, but Albus says e's more bark than bite."

Looking up towards the desk, which behind sat a man in full Regency garb, dark robes, and ash blonde hair sifting through parchments as if there were no one else in the room, Hermione first laid eyes on her new Head of House. "Great, I'll keep that in mind." Price had fought to get her in the class, so he couldn't be that bad, could he?

After the last student sat down, Price stood and ran a hand over the top hat sitting on the corner of his desk as he went to stand in front of the piece of furniture. "Good morning class. As you may have heard we have a new student among us, Miss Granger." He gestured towards her and Hermione gave a determined smile. Something told her that a few of the smiles being cast towards her were more calculating than genteel.

Clapping his hands together, he whipped back behind the desk in a flurry of robes. "Now that the pleasantries have been observed, let's begin…"

* * *

"Well, I'm not entirely sure which is better... one that's out to make me a fool, or one that practically ignores me," Hermione noted as she left Runes on Eoghan's arm. Somehow, she felt more exhausted after just two classes than she ever felt before and her grip on his arm was telling as much, though he was gentlemanly enough not to comment on it.

"Really Miss Granger, t'wasn't like Professor Price was completely ignoring ye. He did let ye answer that one question." The grin on his face told her he found this amusing.

She rolled her eyes, "And he only nodded in response. He didn't even compliment me on a correct answer like the others." She broke a quill on that answer, her frustration of not be recognized as usual causing her to crack the poor item in her fist. Eoghan had looked over, chuckled softly and slipped her a new quill.

Eoghan grinned and pointed at her. "Ah, but he didn't ignore ye now, did 'e?"

She almost wanted to smack him for making her relent and smile; he was after all, right.

As they entered the Great Hall, Eoghan's eye scanned the Gryffindor table before smiling and pulling her along towards a strawberry blonde young lady who sat flipping through a book. "Eileen," he said, reaching her side and drawing her attention to Hermione on his arm.

Slipping a folded parchment between the pages she was reading, the girl turned on the bench enough to meet his gaze. "Ah, so dear brother, what poor lass have ye talked into lettin' ye escort her about?"

Still smiling, he released her and held her books as she sat down beside his sister. "This is Miss Hermione Granger, our new Head Girl. Albus asked me ta see ta her for Runes," he replied acting the gentleman and kissing Hermione's hand in farewell.

Eileen smiled as her brother left and chuckled lightly to herself before addressing Hermione. "Me brother has 'is heart in the right place, for if it weren't for Albus e'd not be as gentlemanly as 'e is, but as 'e forgot to do the introduction I suppose I'll do it. I'm Eileen Riley, Eoghan's sister."

"Hello, Miss Riley," she replied, setting her books aside as Eileen did the same. "Will Mister Dumbledore be along soon?" Despite the relief she felt being with the Rileys, she still could feel completely at ease with Albus nearby. The thought was a bit disconcerting.

Eileen reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice that just appeared and offered to pour some for Hermione before doing the same for herself. "Oh no, I'm afraid Albus barely makes it to lunch anymore. Gets all caught up in the library researchin'. When the clock tolls one 'e rushes in 'ere to eat what 'e can before it's cleared."

Hermione grinned and started eating. A bit of information to tuck away for the next time Harry and Ron pestered her about spending her every free moment in the library. That is, if she ever got the chance to bring that information to light.

After finishing eating, she sat in relative silence with Eileen, each looking through their Practical texts. As it drew closer to one o'clock, she realized she'd be leaving for class soon, and she needed company for the walk. "Miss Riley, do you mind if I walk to Practicals with you?"

"Ah, no! I shoulda thought ta ask ye myself. I can only imagine how it must be ta be new around 'ere." Tucking some notes into the pages of her book, Eileen turned towards her and nodded towards the table to their left as the clock tolled one. "And besides, with the class full of Hufflepuffs, you'll need some sensible Gryffindor ear to talk to; all that lot is as loyal to _proper feminine pursuits_ as the Headmaster 'imself."

Hermione groaned, "You mean to tell me they're going to be the worst critics I have yet to meet?"

"Almost, I'm afraid they're nothing compared to the Slytherin girls… they don't like their men's eyes being directed towards anyone else, and from what I can tell, they're keeping a rather close eye on ye," she noted, nodding towards the Slytherin table furthest from them where sure enough several eyes were on them and whispering, and Hermione could safely assume it wasn't complements they were whispering; especially from the ladies.

"Am I really causing that much of an uproar?" she asked, finding this all a little ridiculous.

Eileen cocked an eyebrow. "There hasn't been such scandal since they hired Professor Millie Mossetti fer Herbology me second year. Most blokes dropped the class as I 'eard it. Only now do ya hear of them taken the class again as they realized she knows 'er stuff."

"How ridiculous, dropping a class simply because a witch was teaching it. What utter rot." Hermione exclaimed more to herself, but noticed the giggle coming from beside her.

"I agree."

Looking up, she found Albus sitting across from them, hurriedly putting his books on the table before reaching for any of the food left he could get before it cleared itself away. "It was utter rot, but then, that's only my opinion," he added, his eyes twinkling at her as he bit into a ham sandwich.

Just then the plates did clear, leaving Albus with the sandwich in his hand, the apple on his books, and the goblet of juice he managed to lift off the table with his other hand at the last moment. "I see ye made it just in time again," Eileen grinned, offering him a chocolate from a napkin sitting among her things.

Still chewing, he cast her a warm smile, which she returned in kind as she laid the sweet on his books next to the apple.

"Come along Miss Granger, we've a long walk to Practicals and Albus 'ere needs to swallow 'is lunch before running off ta Dark Arts." Tucking her things into the crook of her arm, Eileen led Hermione out of the Great Hall and onto the one class she knew she'd hate even more than Divination.

And she wasn't wrong.

* * *

"Now class, let's go over the wall decorating spells we covered yesterday…"

Hermione felt like she was in a 1950's nightmare. Sighing she leaned closer to Eileen. "How much longer do we have in here?"

Flipping to her notes from yesterday Eileen laughed, "Fifty minutes, we just started. Might as well tuck in for the long haul dearie, the wallpaperin' charms are enough to make ye comatose."

Hermione felt like crying as Professor Staud began noting the variations one used to produce a desired pattern and color. The mindlessness of the subject was enough to bring her to tears. At least Divination called for you to use your imagination to create your answers.

Just then, Staud produced an Italian pomegranate design on the wall behind her, much to the delight of the cooing badgers who drank in the professor's directions for recreating the pattern like dry land. Hermione dropped her head in her hands.

What she wouldn't give for a crystal ball and a stick of incense at the moment.


	10. A Losing Battle

**A Losing Battle**

10

"I've died and gone to hell."

Eileen's chuckling was like a double-edged sword, it made Hermione want to join in and scream all at once. How could the girl not be as frustrated as she was?

Still grinning after her chuckling died down, Eileen placed a comforting hand on Hermione's arm as they headed towards the Entrance Hall. "After ye suffer the horrors of glorified homemaking for two years, ye become numb to the pain."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "_Two years?_ You mean to tell me this is your third year in that joke of a class?" Eileen shrugged her shoulders. Turning her gaze back towards the stairs before them, she then commented with, "I correct myself, we've _both _died and gone to hell."

Nodding towards the pair of auburn heads standing off to the side of the foot of the stairs, Eileen squeezed Hermione's arm then released her. "Purgatory, me dear. Tat's all. T'll be _hell_ when we've succumbed to our fates of marriage, children, and homemakin'."

Stopping a few steps from the bottom, Hermione grabbed her arm, stopping Eileen a step below hers. When she turned and met Hermione's gaze, Hermione noticed for the first time the touch of sadness behind her smiling eyes. "Who says it's our fate?"

Eileen looked ready to laugh. "Society, our parents… tis them who arranges our future. What are your odds of being betrothed to a man who doesn' expect ye to play Mary Homemaker? One in a million I'd say."

Hermione did laugh. "Arranged!" Her little outburst drew some attention from a group of Slytherin girls walking past them but she ignored them and soldiered on. "Not _me_. I dictate my own future and I'll chose for myself a man that will see me as more than his trophy wife, but as his equal."

What was at first a disbelieving look slowly turned into one of shock. "Ye mean your parents aren't arrangin' your marriage? Even the muggle parents will arrange a marriage if a pureblood's involved."

At first Hermione thought to clarify that her parents would never presume to do such a thing but then she recalled her cover story and thankfully it was a better reason to give her new friend. Though she knew she had a part to play when it came to her invented background, the thought of possibly not seeing them again for a long time made the job of appearing upset easier. "My parents, who _were_ muggle, passed away this spring. As I am of age, I can arrange my own future."

"I'm sorry," the redhead apologized, "I didn' know."

A silent moment passed before Hermione spoke again. "No, no… it's alright, no harm done," she offered, reminding herself of her parents not having died helping her to look the part of a girl who's grieved enough to say such a thing.

"Might I ask then," Eileen began carefully a few seconds later. "What ye will do if ye finds this man ye speak of and e's a pureblood? I've never heard of a pureblood marryin' without it havin' been arranged, it could ruin their standing."

Their standing, indeed, Hermione thought. Somehow, she was a little surprised they stopped arranging marriages by her time, as they seemed to think of nothing else.

"Well, I'm not exactly interested in marrying any time soon." Hermione replied nonchalantly.

A small chuckle escaped Eileen's lips before she asked, "Ye mighn't be interested in it, but ye might find yourself fancin' some strapping young pureblood… then what?"

Hermione laughed, "Well, I'm not even looking, so I suppose I'm safe." Eileen raised a mocking eyebrow and Hermione imagined she thought her fighting a losing battle. Purposely ignoring the look being cast her, she ended that train of thought. "Oh, enough of this, there's your brother and Mister Dumbledore."

With Eileen laughing, the two took the last few steps and rounded the foot to find Eoghan and Albus discussing the finer points of Quidditch.

"… Puddlemere's new Beater. Why he…" Albus cut himself off as Eoghan motioned towards them as they came up behind the future headmaster. Turning to include the girls in their small circle, and casting them a smile, Albus said, "Ah… Miss Riley, Miss Granger. I trust Practicals was as to be expected?"

The humor in his eyes at the question brought back Hermione's ire slightly. With a smirk she replied, "As pleasant as a trampling by a herd of hippogriffs."

Without missing a beat Eileen interjected, "I'd prefer the hippogriffs, actually."

"Perhaps it can arranged?"

"I'll speak with Professor Tannen."

As the two smiled, Eoghan looked to Albus. "I'd t'ink it a joke if it weren't for me sister. She'd likely do it."

Albus chuckled and winked at Eileen. "I believe she'd be more likely to set the stampeding herd on Professor Staud."

"But you'll not be warnin' her, will ye, Mister Dumbledore?" she asked in reply, a smile on her lips.

"Tis not my place to interfere in the workings of the female world, dear Miss Riley," he answered with the usual twinkle in his eyes. And despite the laughs to be had at that moment, one thought ran through Hermione's mind… that _that_ would change. One day Albus Dumbledore would interfere in much more than that.

It was on that down note that Hermione began to feel the toll of that day's events coming down on her like rain. Hours in her tight laced corset was causing her chest to ache at the prolonged pressure, her feet, unused to such hard and small heeled shoes, felt as if blisters were forming, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to retreat to her room and leave the day to finish without her.

"I hate to end this conversation, but I'd like to return to our rooms, Mister Dumbledore. Today's been a little more tiring than I expected," she said, changing the subject and taking a breath that felt a little more difficult to draw than just a moment ago.

Albus' gaze turned more serious as he held out his arm for her. "Of course, Miss Granger. We can continue our discussion later, Eoghan. Miss Riley," he said, giving the pair a nod of his head as Hermione took his arm.

* * *

Walking back towards their rooms, the toils of the day began to catch up with Hermione tenfold. Her ribs now screamed, her feet throbbed, breathing went from an unconscious reflex to a labored task, and her head felt as if it had been struck with a pickaxe. Her bed had never looked so inviting. For once, she wanted to forgo her habitual revision in order to jump out of these ridiculous layers of clothing and the pressures of living in this time so that she might visit her own scantily clothed time in her dreams.

If only the damn rooms weren't so far away. Had they moved?

As they reached their common room, Albus motioned for Hermione to go in first and he noticed she seemed a bit winded as she walked a bit gingerly. "Miss Gran…"

"Albus," she interrupted in a tone that echoed her wearied appearance as she unceremoniously dropped her things onto the coffee table before the couch, a few of which slid to the floor.

"Hermione," he corrected himself. Such habits were proving harder to break than he initially thought. "You don't look well."

Reaching the couch, she spun around and quickly sank into the cushions, leaning her head against the back, her gaze being turned upwards until he could tell she no longer had him in her line of vision. "That noticeable, is it?"

"Indeed," he replied, crossing the room to deposit his books on the side table just outside his bedroom door. "Were your first day of classes truly that exhausting?"

A few silent moments passed as he returned to sit in the armchair closest to her side of the couch. She had closed her eyes and almost seemed to have fallen asleep. It was only when he shifted in the seat in order to lean over and touch her arm to rouse her that she suddenly exhaled and responded tiredly.

"No, not the classes so much as the tension today. Tension with the men in class, the ladies," she paused and grimaced, "and this _bloody corset_." Placing a hand over her chest as if the action would suddenly decrease the pressure on her rib cage and enable her to breath normally, she said, "I think I've reached my time limit in this torture device for one day."

Sitting up straight, Albus held back a chuckle, knowing the subject to be one not entirely appropriate for them to discuss. At the thought of which, he glanced up to their chaperones' portraits. Thankfully, they both seemed to have found something else to do than act as vigilant eavesdroppers. A bit relieved, he turned his gaze back to Hermione.

Her hair had begun to slip out of its tightly pinned coif, little fuzzy tendrils framing her neck and face. In a way, it was a far more becoming look on her. Seeing her all prim and slicked in place seemed somehow out of sorts with the girl's character.

Crossing his legs and letting his back sink into the cushion of the velvet chair, he pointed out one minor detail as she stood up and appeared to head towards her room to remove the offending garment. "You do realize we've dinner in little over an hour. Should you escape that 'torture device' now you just may find it more difficult to put back on before going down to the Great Hall."

She stopped and he imagined she closed her eyes in frustration as he watched her chin fall towards her chest. When she replied, the weariness was evident in her voice more so than before as she lifted her head and took a few more determined steps. "Then I shall skip dinner tonight."

At that, he was on his feet, catching up to her as she headed for her room. "I don't think that wise." Reaching her, he took hold of her arm gently in one hand, halting her progress, and with the other, turned and lifted her chin until her gaze met his. Her face was a bit pale, her breathing was slow and shallow, and in her eyes, she looked half asleep already. "No, you need to eat dinner this evening," he said, taking it upon himself to see to her well-being. However, he didn't expect her to react as she did.

With all the energy she could muster, Hermione's gaze on Albus hardened and she pulled back her chin from his grasp. "I can decide that for myself, Albus." With each word her voice rose, "I don't need you to tell me what I will and will not do." Of course, in doing so, she ended up with her breathing being more labored than before and her lightheadedness increasing by the second. The last thing she needed was to faint again, but after all she said to Eileen that day, she felt the drive to push him and his damned chivalry away.

The twinkle went out in his eyes like a snuffed candle. Despite this, his voice retained its pleasant tone, which she could faintly tell was taking his concentration to do so. "Hermione, under normal circumstances, I would not dare to dictate your actions, however, that being said, I will not stand by and say nothing when you are so blatantly ignoring your own health."

"I am not…" Starting off with nearly shouting her response, she suddenly felt dizzy and grabbed at one of the chairs at the dining table to the right. As her vision was clearing, she took note of Albus' arms on either side of hers, but couldn't find the strength to push him off.

"Indeed, you are not in a position to argue the point," he finished, taking a hold of her arms, helping to prevent her from collapsing on the floor. He could tell she wanted to push him off, but her injured pride was keeping her from making the situation worse as he lead her back to the couch.

Setting her down on the couch, Albus quickly arranged the pillows against the one arm then helped her to lie back against them. Almost instantly she relaxed into the pillows and he reached down to lift her feet onto the couch as well, her skirts falling to the side as he placed her feet onto the velvet. It was a brief moment before he realized his gaze hadn't left her stocking ankles before he blushed and quickly shifted her skirts up to cover her.

With her now comfortably in position on the couch, Albus went back to the other end and knelt down, saying gently, "I do apologize for just now."

Hermione didn't open her eyes, but seemed to be concentrating on her breathing, "For what, Albus?"

His face felt hot as he gestured towards her ankles, as if she could somehow sense his movements through closed eyelids. "The delay in…. covering your… ankles."

"My ankles?" she lightly chuckled, her hand coming up to her chest again as she grimaced. "I don't care about my ankles, for heaven's sake. You've seen more than that I imagine."

He earnestly prayed the professors wouldn't return to their frames any time soon. His embarrassment was growing by the minute; a helping of reprimands from the watchful duo wouldn't make matters any better. "Yes, but it's entirely improper."

Opening her eyes, she reached over her chest and grabbed his hand. "Forget propriety, I'd rather breathe easier right now, okay?"

Seeing a way out of this awkward moment, Albus produced his wand. "I could cast a charm that would loosen the garment without altering the outward appearance. It will only last a few hours, but it should be enough to get you through dinner." Thankfully, he felt the excess blood draining from his face as he spoke and Hermione gave no indication that she had noticed the change in his facial coloring.

The corners of her mouth went up in a smile and she nodded. "Please." But somehow in that moment, she saw something oddly familiar flicker in his eyes and it wasn't as comforting as she would hope.

"I'll do it," he began, a look of resolve on his face, softened by a smile and those once again damned twinkling eyes. "If you promise me you'll come and eat dinner with me later this evening."

Her stomach was still rolling as it tried desperately to move about normally in its confined space, her resulting nausea caused her to close her eyes once more in a vain attempt at controlling the sensation. Were she less distracted by the damned pain of the corset, she might have realized how skillfully he had worded his demand, leaving her no out should she try to slip past the requirements later. Instead, she was so thankful to hear of a remedy Hermione quickly nodded her agreement with a strained, "Alright, I promise."

A whispered charm later and she felt the tight boning of the corset loosen an inch or too. Her breastbone gave a quick jolt of pain from the sudden lessening of pressure on it, and she drew a deeper breath, releasing it slowly as she relished the relief. It wasn't like being set free, but it was a great improvement. Closing her eyes, she relaxed into the pillows further and sighed.

"Thank you," she said with a smile, and as she did his hand broke free from hers, giving her a gentle squeeze as he did.

When he spoke next, it was bordering on a whisper. "Now rest. I've some revising to do. I'll wake you in time for dinner."

Worn out from the excitement of the day and her depleted oxygen levels, Hermione nodded in agreement and drifted off to sleep, without realizing she had just lost in her first argument to Albus.


	11. A Pawn on the Board

**A/N:**_ My apologies to anyone who got an update notice for this chapter and came to find it missing. It **had** been showing up fine for me, at least, until today, so I've reloaded it in hopes it will take. Just another reminder that technology isn't perfect!_**  
**

**A Pawn on the Board**

11

She had somehow gotten to her bed. The light outside her window was barely enough to register that night had not yet completely fallen, so Hermione couldn't have slept that long. Enjoying the feel of her feather pillow beneath her head, she stretched her arms and bumped into something soft just beside her. Looking over, Crookshanks sat purring, his head nuzzling her hand before she began petting his soft orange fur.

Perhaps it all _had_ been a dream. Everything here seemed normal, seemed like home. That is, until…

"Hermione."

Her eyes looked at Crookshanks in disbelief as his whiskered cheeks moved once more as he spoke. "Hermione."

What the bloody hell?

"Hermione," the voice called louder, causing Crookshanks to fade into the imploring face of Albus Dumbledore. And to her utter horror, found that it hadn't been his orange fur she'd been running her fingers through, but Albus' auburn locks as he kneeled beside her.

Springing up and nearly scratching Albus' face in the process, she wrung her hands, apologizing. "I'm sorry Albus, I was dreaming of my cat." Her face burning, she brought her fidgeting hands to her face, covering and rubbing her eyes, chastising herself. Oh dear Circe, dear heavens above… I was petting Albus, I mean Dumbledore.

To make matters worse, Albus' chuckle was ringing in her ears, making her think that a carnivorous couch would be a blessing at that point; a starving one in desperate need of a Head Girl snack.

"Shall I purr for you to make your awakening more pleasant?"

She nearly choked as her hands froze inches from her face, her gaze snapping over to find him grinning at her like a Cheshire cat, the twinkling in his eyes brighter than she remembered them being before. He continued chuckling and grinning as he sat on the couch beside her, her hands dropping to her lap as she finally found her tongue capable of speech.

"I suppose offering to curl up in my lap will be next," she replied, trying in vain to keep the amused smile from spreading on her face. The situation was so like one she could expect with Ron and Harry it was hard for her to continue to remind herself this young man beside her was, or will be, her Headmaster. Instead, she found her embarrassment slowly fading as the familiarity she was developing with Dumbledore decreased her unease.

Albus sat smiling as he adjusted his silk puff tie, his practiced fingers moving without a thought to the activity. "That, I'm afraid, would be entirely inappropriate, however challenging the execution might be."

"Ah, so you enjoy a challenge?" she asked, pushing a few annoying tendrils of hair behind her ear as she took stock of the change in his attire. Unlike earlier, he now wore a silk waistcoat, a lighter shade of blue than his tie, and his frock coat was now traded for a swallowtail coat that showed off the finer garments nicely.

Having finished with the adjustment, he leaned back into the cushions and reached into his pocket to set his gloves on the robes sitting on the coffee table. "Such as the challenge of waking you without incident?" Her cheeks felt warm again at the rhetorical question. "Then yes, I do love a good challenge, as I hope you do as well."

Confusion crossed her face. "Oh, and why?"

"Because it has taken me far longer to wake you than expected and you now have ten minutes in which to dress for dinner."

That damn amused grin was back on his lips and she wanted to smack it through to his teeth. Instead, she leapt to her feet and practically ran for her door, shouting, "Why didn't you think to wake me with ample time?" As the door closed behind her and she flung open her wardrobe to dig through to one of the finer dresses in the back she heard him only give a hearty laugh in response.

* * *

Eight minutes later, Hermione found herself on the arm of a dapper Albus Dumbledore, just outside the doors of the Great Hall, waiting for Eoghan and Eileen to make their way over to them.

"Evening, Miss Granger," Eoghan immediately greeted her, giving a polite nod of his head as he and his sister reached them.

"Good evening, Mister Riley, Miss Riley," she replied, to which Eileen returned the greeting, shortly followed by Albus addressing the pair.

"So, Miss Granger," Eoghan began, "How was ye first day?"

"I'll let you know tomorrow, after I've survived it, Mister Riley," she answered, Albus patting her gloved hand with his for a moment as she did so.

Eileen smiled and put a reassuring hand on Hermione's arm for the second time that day. "Ye'll be fine, dear. Only a few hours left."

As Hermione went to voice her gratitude for the vote of confidence, she noticed her companions' attention being drawn to the pair of Slytherins that had just reached them.

The majority of the attention was focused on the shorter of the two ladies. Her golden hair was pinned up in a ribboned coif, fashionable sausage curls falling softly from the back to sweep the nape of her neck, while her dress was a vision of ruffled silks and large pagoda sleeves opening for delicately embroidered sleeves. Without asking she knew all this show spoke of money and power, and most likely… a snobby pureblood upbringing.

"Miss Haverty," Albus greeted her with his usual genteel voice and a slight nod of his head, followed by him greeting the taller girl with equal sweetness. "Miss Nott."

Eoghan on the other hand, gave a deeper nod while Eileen dropped into a curtsey. Hermione stood watching all this until her gaze caught Eileen's and the redhead nodded for her to follow suit. Quickly she dropped into a curtsey and looked up to find a look of distaste cross the blonde's face as she acknowledged Albus with a curtsey of her own.

"Mister Dumbledore." Rising, her companion mimicked her movement.

"Tell me, will you be taking it upon yourself to educate this mudblood in areas her _tutor_ seems to have failed?" she then asked, looking over Hermione again like a stain on the floor. Hermione wanted to hex the ribbons in her hair to choke her but clenched her teeth instead as she noticed Eoghan take a step forward only to be elbowed sharply by Eileen.

Albus' gaze turned stern, though his smile never wavered. "I apologize for Miss Granger not being as gifted in Divination as yourself and therefore not having foreseen you're joining us." He felt Hermione's hand squeeze his arm until he almost wanted to pull it away from her punishment, but he wasn't finished yet. "But then one might question why your celebrated inner eye did not forewarn you of her ignorance and allowed you to make the introduction properly yourself in the first place."

At the same time, Hermione's grip loosened and Miss Haverty replied as swift and sharp as a viper. "It won't be wise for you to insult me like this again, Mister _Dumbledore_," she said, practically spitting his name before storming off in a huff, her lapdog trotting along behind her. Eileen was grinning like a cat who had eaten a mouse, Eoghan was chuckling, and Albus turned to find Hermione just as pleased.

"That, Miss Granger," he began to explain as he started to lead her into the Great Hall. "was one Genevieve Haverty. Pureblood, Slytherin…"

"…and self righteous only daughter of the Havertys," Eileen finished from behind them.

Albus looked over his shoulder and gave her a reprimanding look. "Let's refrain from the additional descriptors, shall we?"

Eileen frowned a little as her brother left her to sit at the table across from Albus and Hermione. "If we're to introduce her to the inner workin's of this ridiculous social hierarchy, we migh' as well be honest," she commented while grabbing her linen napkin and snapping it open to lie on her lap.

Removing his gloves, Albus sighed. "Honest, not _biased_." His gloves off, he too grabbed his napkin and prepared for the meal. "Even if she is a touch self righteous," he added softly and with a grin. Reaching for the goblet of pumpkin juice that just appeared before her, Eileen grinned in reply. "You see, Miss Granger," he continued, "Miss Riley here doesn't put much stock in the whole concept, though it is entirely unavoidable."

"Aye," she replied, setting the goblet down. "I think it outdated. And don't get me wrong, I am, Miss Granger, from a good family me self. Tis not jealousy speakin' here."

"Indeed the Rileys have risen far in the last two centuries." Albus' gaze fell back on Hermione and judging by the look on her face, she was committing as much of this information to memory as she could. "Her ancestor was a muggleborn and so it has been an upward battle for the family."

Across from him, Eileen pierced her roast with a touch of malice. "Aye, and as such, the name Riley will forever been forbidden from rising any higher than it has Miss Granger. And trust me, that isn't far. We're barely higher than the Mossettis, which is only due to me great great aunt marrin' a Dumbledore."

Hermione finished a bite before setting her fork down and looking to Albus. "Does this hierarchy have anything to do with her brother's nod being deeper than yours?" He was rather proud of her having made such a connection so quickly.

"Yes, it had everything to do with it. The Rileys are of a lower standing than the Havertys, hence the deeper nod and deep curtseys etiquette dictates." Pausing, he took a bite and thought about how he might better convey all this when their dining was interrupted by the bustling whispers around them. Before he could inquire as to the nature of the whispering, William Longbottom leaned over to Eileen and whispered something to her that caused her eyes to widen.

"So early? Tis not Samhein yet!" she gasped, getting a nod in response before leaning over towards him and Hermione. "It's in today's Evening Profit… the Havertys announced the betrothal of Genevieve Haverty to _Titan Greenwaithe_."

Still completely lost as to all this hierarchy mess, the news didn't seem important in one way or another to Hermione. Despite the shock on her new friend's face, she shrugged and began to continue eating her potatoes.

"That certainly explains her retort now, doesn't it?" Eileen asked Albus.

"Indeed," he replied, his fingers coming up to brush his clean-shaven chin. "It seems the Havertys are climbing the rungs."

Eileen was ignoring her food at this point. "Good thing ye've no sisters or female first cousins, or they'd be after an alliance with the Dumbledores with those arrogant men she calls brothers."

Hermione found herself becoming interested at this point and turned to Albus, ignoring her food as well. "Why would they seek an alliance with the Dumbledores?" she asked, setting her fork down and pushing the plate back.

Looking to have lost his appetite, Albus replied wearily, "Because in the greater game, we're second only to the Peverells." His eyes never met hers as he spoke, but focused on his goblet as he raised it to his lips to drain it.

At Hermione's obvious confusion, Eileen clarified, "Meanin' his family is poised to be the highest in England should the only livin' Peverell heiress die before makin' a good match."

The weight of this information hit her solid in the chest. It was no longer any wonder as to why it was so easy for Albus' father to vouch for her, why she wasn't so openly attacked with Albus by her side, save the haughty Genevieve Haverty, and why years from now Dumbledore would continue to hold so much weight in the wizarding world. Purebloods put all their stock into prestige and rank, and here, Albus held it in spades from the start.

Upon processing all this, Hermione's mouth fell open in a silent _oh._

Albus sighed and pointed towards the head table. "And this arrangement works out well for Professor Avery, our Head of Slytherin," he nodded towards the dark haired wizard enjoying a cigar and goblet of some, most likely alcoholic, drink and little else.

"There was a scandal when his cousin, and only other legitimate heir, ran off with Sir Reginald Greenwaithe." Albus motioned towards the man seated clear across from Avery, a dark green velvet cape about his shoulders as he looked past the entire expanse of students as if they didn't exist, the whole time putting his white kid gloves on that marked him as a dueling master.

"The Greenwaithes had been vying for position ever since their disgrace during the Goblin Rebellion when Tedieus Greenwaithe was exposed as a supporter. It's said that Reginald wooed Yvette Avery until he ruined her, leaving the family no choice but to agree with their marriage in order to avoid further scandal. In doing so, the power of the Avery name in alliance with the Greenwaithes restored their name enough to allow such a thing as this betrothal to occur and further solidify their new standing. A few more generations and they just may rival the Malfoys."

Now there, Hermione recognized a name. "So tell me, exactly how does this marriage benefit Professor Avery then?" she questioned, turning to face Albus.

Albus turned in his seat to face her more fully as well, his hands becoming more animated as he talked, as Hermione's expression did when excited over sharing her knowledge. "You see, the Averys aren't that thrilled about their association with the Greenwaithes, its put unwanted attention on their name, a black spot on it if you will. On the other hand, the Havertys are quite low in rank to the Averys, but they've never had a scandal to sully their name. Now, in their hurry to rise above their station, they've tied themselves to it in that Titan Greenwaithe was conceived a bastard, if not born one. The Havertys may gain status, but it comes with a marred groom, hence the attention to the Averys connection is forgotten... The spot removed."

The silent _oh_ fell on her lips a second time. The web of this social hierarchy was far more complex than she had initially suspected. Its correlations to a chess game instantly came to mind. Pity Ron had always been the master of that game. Here, she suddenly felt the pawn.

Leaning in only slightly as not to draw attention to their proximity, Hermione whispered, "I'm never going to understand all this, Albus. It's so foreign to me." Unfortunately, it was difficult to keep the worry out of her tone.

He smiled sweetly, which somehow comforted her, and took her hand in his for only a moment. "You'll learn the game in time. You've only to remember to curtsey to any introduced you, and that I'll not leave you to the wolves." The deepening in his smile and the squeeze of his hand caused her to smile in return.

And this time, she didn't reflect on the twinkling blue eyes at all, she only smiled at them.


	12. Vigil

**A/N:**_ No, I've not abandoned WtTC. RL just decided I had other matters to handle is all. I apologize for the prolonged update and beg forgiveness!! _**  
**

**Vigil**

12

An hour later, Hermione sat at their common room table, her Practicals book laid open in front of her as she scribbled notes on a parchment, her full sleeved shirt a bit cumbersome while writing but not as much as the heavy brocade bodice with its damned pagoda sleeves that now lay folded over the edge of the couch. For the first time, she felt like she was being tortured by studying a subject and more than once she had let out a bored sigh. Across from her Albus sat revising as well, his hand speedily moving across his roll of parchment as his free hand pulled at the silk tie still around his throat.

Stopping, which didn't pain her in the least, Hermione set her quill down and cleared her throat to get Albus' attention. It took two more tries and a tap on the table to do so.

"Yes?" he asked, his free hand coming down to mark his place in the text as he raised his gaze to hers.

"You might be more comfortable if you took off that coat and tie."

You'd think she had suggested a game of strip poker by the way he laughed. "And sit here in only my shirtsleeves?" Another chuckle and his eyes were back on his work.

It was her turn to laugh. "Albus, it's not like you'll be showing me anything more than your shirt. I've already taken off my bodice," she offered as evidence as to the innocence of such an action.

Albus didn't lift his gaze, but keep writing. "Yes, and I've not felt comfortable ever since."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed and flung her back against the chair. "Oh for heaven's sake, I'm covered by this shirt, a corset, _and_ a chemise. How in the world could you _possibly_ see anything?"

"It opens the door to one's imagination," he simply replied, still not looking up to meet her gaze.

"This is utter nonsense. It's clear you're uncomfortable. You've been tugging on that poor strip of silk for twenty minutes now."

You've been watching me that intently, have you? Course, Albus bit his tongue and refused to voice his thoughts. It was hard enough sitting across from her, his imagination running in directions he would rather not focus on since she began unbuttoning her bodice. The last thing he needed was another bout of banter that would leave him thinking of possibilities improper in such a short time of acquaintance.

"Albus, do yourself a favor and at least untie it." Still no reply. It was like talking to a statue. Gods the wizard could be stubborn, not that _she _couldn't be as well. Grinning, she picked up her wand from beside her book and aimed it at his tie. "Should I help you more directly then?"

That got a response.

Peeking up over his work, his eyes widened quickly followed by him snapping his head up as he gaped at her. "You wouldn't dare." She grinned further and prepared to open her mouth as if to cast a spell. "Alright, alright, Hermione, I'll remove my coat and tie." Sighing in defeat, he did just that, laying the garments over the back of the nearest armchair before sitting back down to find Hermione with a satisfied look on her face.

And unlike Hermione the previous night, Albus _did_ notice his first loss to Hermione.

In the end she was willing to settle for a loose tie and here he had stripped both garments off. Damn.

The sensation wasn't as uncomfortable as he would have thought, for few could get the better of him, but even so, the fact it was _her_ had made it a more acceptable loss, well, concession as he'd call it.

Sitting back down, his face schooled to not show his acknowledged slip, he picked up his quill in order to continue where he had left off when he noted the still pleased look on her face as she sat writing away.

And he smiled despite himself, for it suited her.

* * *

Habits are quick to form and hard to break they say, not that he was trying. In little over a week he had become accustomed to returning to the common room with Hermione after dinner, both of them discarding their outer garments until they sat in only their shirt sleeves, their framed chaperones giving up in their protests by the forth week. 

Had it really been four weeks?

Hermione sat scrawling on a roll of parchment, an occasional muffled exclamation escaping her lips every now and then as she flipped through several texts, her displeasure instantly telling him which subject she was working on.

"I had almost forgotten it was Sunday," he noted as he turned the page of his Dark Arts text, his eyes still on her fuzzy coifed head.

Her eyes never left her work. "Oh? And what reminded you?" Her mouth crinkled up at something she read after the words were spoken.

"You." Still looking at her, he was surprised she hadn't lifted her head at that, so he explained further. "You put off all your Practicals work until Sunday."

She laughed and scratched a line out on her parchment. "I do not."

Albus leaned forward slightly, a playful grin spreading on his lips. "Oh really?" Something in his tone must have struck a chord with her for she then looked up. "Last week you spent four hours revising your notes for your exam this past Monday. The week prior you were in the library until an hour past curfew working on a paper for the class, much to the dismay of Eileen who nearly cost our house twenty points for returning to Gryffindor Tower so late. A week before that…"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione dropped her quill and sat back in her chair with a sigh. "Alright, fine. So I can barely tolerate having to be subjected to such a mundane and sexist class. Professor Staud should be glad I even bother to do the assigned work, idiotic as it is."

He couldn't help himself. "Bother to do it? Hermione, the sky would fall before you would fail to hand in an assignment, not to mention them being most likely the best in the class." Her feathers were ruffling as he laughed, but it was unavoidable.

"My education is no laughing matter Albus," she replied, her face reddening as she set about her work again, her usual way of trying to step out of the situation. "And yet, that _class_ has little to no educational value."

Still chuckling a bit, he dropped his gaze back to his own work. "You still aim to be the best in the class though." The lack of response told him she had conceded, her pride wouldn't allow her to rebuke him, no matter how much she might want to strangle him.

Four weeks indeed. Twenty-eight nights of banter and he had just evened the score, _again_.

* * *

The following Friday Hermione and Eileen entered the Library after Practicals and quickly found Albus towards the back sitting at a table strewn with open books. As they approached he stood and greeted them, then sat only once they had each taken a seat across from him. "Survived yet another day, ladies?" he inquired, the left corner of his mouth curved upward. 

Hermione wasn't even going to respond, but Eileen wasn't one to stay mute. "Aye, barely. Professor Staud praised Miss Granger's new variation on the lookin' glass repair charm, ignorin' Genevieve Haverty's proposed variation. Ye can imagine how she took that."

Albus grinned and set his quill down for a moment, though his free hand marked his place, as was his habit. "Another point on Miss Haverty's list I presume?"

"Honestly, I don't know why she feels the need to target me personally, I've never done anything to her." And Hermione really didn't know what had triggered the Slytherin's anger towards her.

"Ever think that I might be the reason?" Albus asked, getting a confused look in response from his friend. When she began to shake her head he went on. "Think on it Miss Granger. What have you learned so far about the Havertys?"

There wasn't a moment's hesitation. "They crave position and attention."

"Exactly. And what do the Dumbledores have and what has your success in your classes been giving you?"

"Position and attention respectively." Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned. "And so she has it out for me. _Wonderful_. Can't she find something better to do with her time than demean me?"

Eileen's face turned a bit grave as she reached over and grabbed Hermoine's arm. "I'd not want te have that one do more than that Miss Granger. She is a Slytherin after all and her family isn't known for their sparklin' history."

Albus tucked a slip of parchment into his book before closing it and the others scattered around him. "Miss Riley, I put little stock into one's House affiliation and even less into gossip. I'm sure that Miss Haverty is just lashing out in jealousy and nothing more."

"That may very well be, but I'd still feel better if I didn't have to endure students looking at me like I'm some strange science experiment," Hermione remarked, helping him to stack his books alphabetically as he normally did, their hands working in tandem without once bumping into each other.

Eyeing them work, Eileen cocked an eyebrow for a brief moment before grabbing a parchment and rolling it up for him. "Well, in many ways, ye are. Tis not like there's any other ladies in Runes or Transfiguration."

Hermione put the final book in place and slid the stack towards Albus. "Thank you ever so much for your thoughts on how I _do_ resemble an experiment. I'm so glad it's only that and not some curious oddity."

Chuckling, Eileen got to her feet, handing the rolled parchment to Albus as he also stood. "Ah, would ye like me to give a few examples for that too?"

At the same time Hermione rolled her eyes saying, "Shoulda kept my mouth shut", Albus grinned, saying, "Shouldn't have said anything."

And the three left with a laugh.

It was later that evening, while Hermione sat reading Albus' Potions book in their common room that she found out how a bit of jealousy could begin to spell trouble for her and Albus.

Though she never asked for permission to borrow the text, she figured he suspected she was reading it while he and Eoghan were in Dueling lessons by the way he suddenly started to leave it out in the middle of the table on those evenings, but neither mentioned it. Sitting on the couch rereading a chapter she found particularly intriguing, she was startled by a sudden repeated knocking on the door.

Marking her place, Hermione set the book on the couch and opened the door to find Eoghan standing in the corridor in his dueling waistcoat bearing his family crest, his red hair disheveled and sweat still rolling down his neck. "Miss Granger, ye'd best come wit me, Albus is in the Infirmary."

Not even bothering to grab her bodice, she closed the door behind her and quickly fell into step with Eoghan in only her shirtsleeves as they all but ran to the Infirmary. "What happened?" she asked, her hands clasping the front of her skirts to keep them out of the way as they went down one staircase after another.

"Albus was dueling Antoni Sedulo this evenin' and when Antoni started to use some questionable curses, Albus tried to speak wit Master Greenwaithe, but he just waved 'im off like it weren't nothin'." Reaching the corridor that lead to the Infirmary, he picked up the pace a bit. "Before ye knew it, Antoni blasted one that sent Albus across the room, an he hasn't come to since."

She gasped and matched Eoghan's new pace. "He was knocked unconscious?"

"Aye, and Madam Dillwyn's not sure what caused it," he replied, reaching the doors and opening one for her.

Her heart racing by this time, Hermione quickly slipped into the room and headed straight for the bed the nurse was hovering over with Professor Price. Reaching it, she swallowed hard as she took in his appearance, which was even more ragged than Eoghan's.

His deep violet waistcoat was slashed open just above his right breast and from that slash all the way down his arm was a sooty line that ended at his white kid dueling glove, which now bore scorch marks. His face looked merely asleep, aside from the matted blood she spotted on his hair that likely generated at the base of his skull. The force he must have hit the wall with to cause that wound was almost too frightening to imagine, and it felt as if a cold hand was wrapping around her heart at the sight of it.

"Will he be alright?" she faintly asked, wrapping her wand around his uninjured left one and holding on to it as if it were a lifeline.

Madam Dillwyn was waving her wand over Albus' chest and murmuring an incantation while Professor Price finished scanning his own over his pupil before pocketing it in his jacket. "Yes," he replied, "for now at least. Madam Dillwyn is repairing some of the damage Mister Sedulo caused but as of yet, we've tried everything to revive him." Looking to her, the Runes professor cast her a look that was a mix of anger, concern, and determined resolve as he continued. "I have my suspicions as to the cause, but I must first speak with Professor Avery and Master Greenwaithe. If you'll excuse me."

He didn't even wait for a reply, as if she would even dare stop him. All she could think about was Albus. Still holding his hand, she reached back to grab the closet chair to sit on when she felt the edge of it lightly touch the back of her legs and turned to find Eoghan holding it for her. Sitting down she watched silently as Madam Dillwyn finished. Eoghan stood behind her, his hands resting on the back of the chair.

Soon enough, the nurse tucked her wand back in her pocket and pulled the blankets up on Albus' chest. "He had some internal bleeding but I've stopped it and repaired the damage. Other than his unconsciousness, he's perfectly fine." Smoothing the folded end of the blankets, she looked to Hermione. "I'll be keeping watch throughout the evening. You may stay if you wish." Hermione nodded . "Mister Riley, thank you for fetching Miss Granger. I'll let you know if there is any change this evening. You may return to your dorm."

Eoghan nodded and placed a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Watch over him Miss Granger. I'll return to escort you to breakfast in the morning."

"Thank you," she replied, lightly placing her free hand over his for a brief moment before he pulled away and left the Infirmary.

After the door closed behind him, Hermione asked the question that had been on her lips since she had been offered to stay. "Madam Dillwyn, why did you send Mister Riley to fetch me?"

The nurse had begun to clean the blood from his hair as best as was possible in his position, which hid a good deal of it. "I figured he would do well with you here, even if he isn't aware of it yet. He did the same for you."

"He… you mean…" she hated to stammer, but under the circumstances, she found it hard to do otherwise. Albus had stood vigil while she was unconscious?

The woman smiled warmly. "Yes, he spent a good deal of time in here when you arrived. I can't say he held your hand," Hermione blushed, but held on all the same, "but he stayed at your bedside as often as he could."

The warmth was still in her cheeks as Hermione dropped her gaze from Madam Dillwyn to Albus, her thumb rubbing slow circles on the soft kid covering the back of his hand. I should have known he would have done that, she thought, smiling.


	13. Ammunition

**_A/N:_**_ I've started a forum for anyone interested. :)_**  
**

**Ammunition**

13

_Thump._

The sound was rather faint, like heavy glass settling on a table's surface, but it was enough to rouse Hermione. Lifting her head from her shoulder, the muscles protesting with a tightness she knew all too well from falling asleep sitting, she ignored the pain and opened her eyes to find a small boy, almost a miniature copy of Albus, across the bed from her.

Having set down a now empty water glass, the boy sat back down in the chair that was now positioned on the other side of Albus. His hair looked almost brown in the dim room were it not for the halo of auburn that highlighted it from the candlelight behind him where Madam Dillwyn sat rolling bandages with her wand.

Though Albus had introduced them once before, about three weeks ago, the twelve year old was rarely seen about. Where Albus was the charming socialite, this boy was the embodiment of the opposite.

"How long have you been here, Aberforth?" she asked with a slight yawn, remembering how Albus had warned her that he rarely responded to formal addresses, even from him.

The boy looked at the clock on the table nearest them, which read five in the morning, then replied in a barely audible whisper, "an hour."

Stretching as best as she could, she sat up straight in the chair and brushed off the shawl someone had placed on her during the night. "Up so early?"

Aberforth only nodded in reply as he sat looking on his older brother.

"He'll be alright." She offered, thinking him worried, though reading the boy's face was about as easy as reading a blank parchment. The younger Dumbledore took introversion to the form of an art; only the elder could read him.

"I know." He stated flatly, his eyes fixed on Albus. Apparently he desired no comfort from her. That or he wasn't going to let her know he needed it. Only Albus could be sure.

As she began to fold the shawl into a makeshift pillow, Aberforth finally looked at her, pointing at the item. "I thought you might take a chill."

"Oh," she blurted, shocked at him having made such a gesture when he seemed so aloof from others and a bit embarrassed at having so quickly removed it as if not grateful. "I uh, have warmed for now, but thought it would do splendidly to cushion my head." Hopefully it would take some of the sting away, that is, if he felt any.

All he did was shrug and slowly return his gaze towards the figure lying between them. Of all the people she'd met in this Hogwarts, Aberforth Dumbledore was the only one she had no inkling as to where she stood with him. Frankly, it troubled her a little.

With the shawl nicely folded, Hermione tucked it into place between her shoulder, her head, and the chair, giving her just enough cushion to drift back to sleep, her hand resting on Albus' forearm as she did.

* * *

There was a faint, warm glow coming through her eyelids as Hermione slowly awoke a few hours later. Stretching as she opened her eyes, she found Aberforth gone, the chair he had occupied gone as Madam Dillwyn stood by a supply cabinet putting potions away. 

"Well, good morning Miss Granger, I hope you slept well."

Hermione smiled, despite the crick in her neck. "As well as one can in a chair." Madam Dillwyn chuckled before closing and locking the cabinet. "When did young Mister Dumbledore leave?"

The nurse made her way to the bed. "About half an hour ago, poor dear." Sighing she began to check Albus with her wand. "Always up before the break of dawn and in and out of the Dining Hall before most of the school has even stepped foot inside. I think Albus here is the only one the boy ever dares to be around."

"I was beginning to think that too." Hermione said, giving her thoughts voice. It had always seemed odd to her that it took Albus a week to introduce them, but then she never supposed he might have had to track Aberforth down or speak to him about her beforehand. Peculiar was becoming a more and more appropriate word for Aberforth.

Madam Dillwyn finished her examination. "No change," she tisked. "But, at least he is well otherwise." Hermione smiled as best as she could, considering her nearly constant companion was currently lying unconscious. The nurse patted her shoulder at her smile. "He's made it through the first night without incident. You'll not need to hold vigil any longer, nor I."

Though the words _first night_ were unnerving as they reiterated the fact that this was certainly not his last in this state, Hermione still nodded and smiled lightly.

Rounding her chair, the nurse walked around the foot of the bed and headed towards her office, saying, "Mister Riley should be here any moment." Then, as if on cue, Eoghan walked in, his usual smile shining as warmly as the sunlight raining down through the windows.

"Mornin' Miss Granger," he nodded in greeting. "I take it Albus is still fine?" he asked as he reached the bedside and held out his arm for her.

Rising, she sighed a yes in reply before taking his arm. "I hope Madam Dillwyn and Professor Price can wake him soon."

"Aye," he concurred, adding, "missin' classes on Monday would devastate 'im." If Eoghan was aiming to make her chuckle, he succeeded. "Well, Miss Granger, may I escort you to your rooms so you may dress for breakfast."

"Yes, please," she answered, her hopes of a peaceful weekend dashed.

* * *

Sunday afternoon arrived and Hermione found herself sitting at the Common Room table, her books open and forgotten before her as she stared out the window beside her, the movement of the brilliant autumn leaves in the breeze helping her thoughts and worries about Albus to ease their way out of her mind just as softly. 

Four times the previous day she had sat at her companion's side, his hand cupped in hers as she silently willed him to open his eyes. Madam Dillwyn had nothing more to tell of his condition, which didn't help ease her mind. On her last visit Hermione crossed paths with Professor Price as she left, but when she tried to stop and ask him about Albus, he merely gave her a courteous nod in acknowledgement as he continued towards the Infirmary, a curt "in due time, Miss Granger," in reply.

That morning she had slept in and by the time she had gotten ready to visit Albus, her and Eoghan found the Infirmary off limits as the nurse and Head of Gryffindor worked inside. She could only hope it was a good sign.

Sighing, she pushed the nearest book away and propped her chin in her upturned palm as she turned in her chair to look at a new view out the window. A cool draft was making its way through a crack between the window and the sill but it didn't bother her as she stared off at the back portion of a tower just below, a grove of trees lining it and blocking a good deal of the ground from her sight. There she had noticed a beautiful bird perched on a limb, grooming when it suddenly took flight, two figures running past the tree as they came to a halt against the tower wall, their heads obscured from view.

Thinking it a bit odd to find people out on that part of the grounds, she sat up, her hands gripping the sill as she leaned in to see if it was possible to find out who they were. For a few moments they seemed to just be talking, a man and a woman by the clothing, until the man drew the woman against him. Getting a little steamy now, aren't they, she thought.

No sooner than the thought crossed her mind, the two began to move along the wall until they were pressed into the corner made by the tower meeting another castle wall and the trees no longer blocked them from her view. At first it didn't register in her mind as to who either of them were, their faces were as pressed together as their bodies, but when the man lower his head to the woman's neck Hermione gasped.

Genevieve Haverty.

Her mouth forming a silent oh, Hermione sprang up, grabbed her bodice off the back of the couch and ran out of the common room as she buttoned it up over her blouse, her feet pounding the flagstone as she made her way to Gryffindor Tower.

Quickly giving the password, she dashed inside and looked about the Common Room for Eileen, finding her at a table in the middle of a game of cribbage. Hermione ignored the curious looks being cast her as she reached the table and as her friend looked up at her upon her arrive she leaned towards the red head, saying, "There's something I must show you… you won't believe it otherwise." Puzzlement on her face, Eileen nodded and excused herself before quickly following Hermione out of the tower and into the Head Common Room.

"What in the name o' Merlin is goin' on? Ye practically ran the whole way here!" Eileen exclaimed as she slowed down in an effort to catch her breath as Hermione waved her on towards the window where she stood, breathing just as heavily.

"Come on," Hermione said, having taken a quick look to see if she still saw them below. "You must look at this."

Eileen looked a bit more curious now and made her way to Hermione's side and peered out and down where her friend now pointed. "Oh, dear Merlin!" she cried. "There's a pair of lovers down there, and they're doin'… I can no' say it!"

"What?" Hermione asked, leaning in to see what Eileen meant when she gasped and realized Genevieve's skirts were now hiked up in the front and judging by the motion of the man, they were doing more than kissing now. "My God, they're…"

Eileen was now looking away, her hand over her mouth. Hermione looked over at her, saying, "I'm sorry, they weren't doing _that_ a few minutes ago. I just wanted you to see who it was."

Lowering her hand, Eileen seemed to recover from the sight suddenly. "You saw who it was?"

"Yes, it's Genevieve Haverty." She replied, causing her friend's mouth to drop as hers had earlier.

"No," Eileen breathed, shaking her head. "Not her! She can't afford that kind o' scandal."

"Well, apparently she hasn't thought of that." She replied, pointing out the window at which point Eileen took another look and after a moment gasped once more.

"Tis her, the trollop." The red head confirmed as she pulled her eyes away and took a seat in the chair on the other side of the table. "If it were come to light, her betrothal to Master Greenwaithe's son would be over an' the family name put to ruin."

"_If_ it were to come to light?" Hermione repeated in question. "You mean we're not going to tell someone? We're just going to forget what we saw?"

"Indeed!" she exclaimed. "If we were to go about accusin' Master Greenwaithe's soon to be daugh'er in law of fornication wit someone not her betrothed an' on school grounds no less, we'd be facin' scorn the likes of which ye've never imagined." Leaning in, she crossed her arms and added. "Dear, I'm little more than a halfblood in most wizards' eyes and ye they'd call a mudblood. Our word against that of an ol' pureblood family such as the Havertys would account fer nothin'. We'd be marked as gossips, slanderers, and worse the rest o' our lives."

Hermione balled her fists and gritted her teeth before bellowing, "What a load of tripe!" Her hand slammed down on the table, rattling it enough to jostle a book to fall off the edge. "That, that… _harlot_ can go about lifting her skirts to some guy and nothing will be done to her? Yet here _I_ am, having done nothing wrong and she treats me like a house-elf!"

"Actually," Eileen interceded, "It's worse than that I'm afraid. That was not _some_ guy. Didn't ye notice his hair?"

"It was an ordinary brown, yes." Really, she didn't see how that unremarkable detail could possibly enter into the equation.

Eileen rolled her eyes. "Aye, but didn' ye notice the blond patch behind his left ear?"

Sarcasm lends itself to some discussions, this being one of them, as Hermione would have noticed had she the time to analyze her reaction. "Yes, with all that _motion_, my eyes were glued to the back of his head." A moment's pause, then, "no, I didn't notice. What of it?"

"Only one person bears such a birthmark," the red head began to explain, a grim look spreading on her face as if this weren't the only realization to come to her. "Antoni Sedulo."

If it weren't for her knowing that it weren't physically possible, Hermione would have swore her stomach had fallen through her and landed on the floor. The worry she had momentarily forgotten about Albus returned three fold as she made the connection Eileen had.

Her once fisted hand that had struck the table uncurled as she felt her voice wavering. All her strength was needed to speak the words that gave her more cause to worry than before. Finally she managed to utter, "Then she's the author of Albus' state."

Slowly, Eileen nodded. "Tis most likely. Which also means Genevieve isn' afraid to attack ye in any way she can."

"But it was Albus!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Aye," her friend replied, "which 'urts worse? The pain ye feel yerself or seein' someone ye love in pain?" She nodded at the look on Hermione's face. "Everyone by now knows ye were holding vigil. What do ye think that tells Genevieve?"

"Yes, but…"

Eileen shook her head and interrupted her. "She got ye in the heart, an' she knows it now. When ye failed to leave his side she learned ye weakness, and mind ye… she'll not forget it."

She had no response to that. What could she say? That she didn't feel terror in her heart for Albus when she heard the news? She knew it would be futile to deny it. Instead she had unknowingly given Genevieve Haverty ammunition.

And who knew when she would fire again.


	14. A Voice in the Darkness

**A Voice in the Darkness**

14

Finally, he truly knew how it felt to have the events unfold around you in slow motion. The movement of every muscle in your opponent stretched out before you in an intriguing display as they ripple beneath sweat glistened skin, each breath you take echoing in your ears like the deep hollow draw of an ancient bellows, as your eyelids pull back further than ever before as you watch the stream of light come steadily towards you, clouding your vision in an orange haze before darkness blankets all. Albus found himself wondering at the sensation as he felt his body fly backwards into the stone wall behind him, his back driven into the uneven surface with enough force to knock the air out of him.

It was surreal, the way he felt detached from his own body as he vaguely registered that his form had slid down the wall and had come to land in a heap on the floor. Footsteps rushed towards him though the sound was at first distant, like the owners were traveling the length of a great corridor and not just a few feet. The first sign he had of being in great trouble was when he willed his hands to rub at his eyes and found no part of his body capable of heeding any command.

Then he tried to call for Eoghan.

In his mind he felt his lips move, but strangely, those on his body did not. The two realities did not coincide and he somehow felt both as sharply as the other and it shocked him. Nothing escaped his mouth in his mind, not even envisioned air. He was... empty.

Helpless was the only way for him to describe how he felt, lying there, unable to move, to speak, and yet conscious of his classmates around him, and of the Dueling Master's gloved hand checking for vitals on the side of his neck. A distant warmth was spreading some where far off behind his head, driving the faint chill of the flagstone away when he realized it had to be his own blood, judging by the dull pain slowly driving its way through his skull until it rammed at into the back of his eye sockets. He could almost picture the sharp, jagged glass shards attacking his nerves, his hands wiping at them ferociously in his mind, though his limbs remained limp.

He could not even form a tear to ease the pain away.

An eternity seemed to pass as he lie there, in darkness, a sea of voices around him, before he felt himself being levitated off the ground and steered through the corridors of Hogwarts to the Infirmary. Eoghan's warbled voice in the distance soon became the one he focused his mind on as he was taken to see Madam Dillwyn, and it soon became apparent that they thought him unconscious. Albus wished he could communicate with his friend in some way, but there was nothing to be done. He could only listen to the voices that were his only company in his dark exile.

There was little comfort to be had from Madam Dillwyn. He could sense the cool, soft linen underneath of him, the spells healing his injuries and easing his pains, but despite these little comforts, the strange emptiness he found himself in became more disturbing. He was adrift between two existences. His external body maintained some semblance of his sense of touch, dulled, but there, yet at the same time, in his mind, he could not feel anything. Like his mind was struggling to give him what little sensation it could while also trapping him in a deprivation that would grow to choke him.

Even in his mind the visions of dreams did not reach him, he could not feel his own skin, his breath, only sound... the sound of his thoughts. His body, laying prone in the Infirmary, felt like its blood flow had been obstructed and was growing numb ever so slowly while the voices around him grew fainter and fainter before hitting his ears. Between these two worlds, he struggled to keep note of what was happening to him and at the same time, try to find a way out of his own mind to escape this nightmare.

Albus was pulled from his thoughts as he heard a familiar lilt near him. The words were hard to completely decipher by this point, but the tone and pitch was undeniable. Relief, and a touch of horror, washed over him at hearing Hermione at his bedside.

Even with her words muffled, he could hear the worry in her voice, the way it made the ebb and flow of her words float over him like a steady, low wake, void of her usual passionately driven waves with their strong undercurrent. He wanted to picture her in his mind, imagine the way her eyes would shine, her hair falling in fuzzy tendrils to frame her face, but no matter the struggle, only darkness surrounded him. Her face would not come. Sleep would not come. And pain was escaping him- all sensation was, slowly.

Fear suddenly overcame him.

Distantly, he felt his numb form laying there in his clothes, Hermione's voice nearby as he willed his fears subside. They would do him no good, that much he still understood and yet it was still hard to push them aside. That is, until her familiar touch came to rest on his arm, nothing more than a gentle, slightly warm weight due to his fading sense of touch, but one he found so immediately calming, he felt his fears lift and his hope resurface stronger than he could have ever imagined.

Now he only hoped she could remain with him.

* * *

Had it been one day, or two? Albus wasn't sure, but he did know it must be a week day, judging by the way Hermione had not been there to sit with him for very long before she left with Eoghan, judging by the familiar lilt in his voice, however faint at this point. By the time she had, the weight of her hand felt as light as the brush of a feather and he knew he would likely not register her touch again. He was immensely glad his friend had taken it upon himself to see to her. Hermione might have grown somewhat accustomed to the ways of his world, but she was still very independent, and were it not for Eoghan, he was sure she would have tried walking to class alone by now. Hogwarts might be safe, but even he knew better than to assume nothing could befall a student.

Look at him.

If he could hear anything escape his own mouth, in his mind or not, he would hear a tired sigh, but as it was, there was nothing. It was growing more and more unsettling, living inside his own mind, trapped by a growing lack of sensation, only the hollow sound of his own thoughts keeping him company. Were it not for the familiar tone present in the voices of Professor Price, Professor Avery, and Madam Dillwyn, he would have surely gone mad by now. What gave him hope was the knowledge that his Head of House, and that of Slytherin, might be onto Antoni's little curse, and hopefully working on its counter. He had every faith they would deduce it was a combination, as Albus had upon hearing and seeing it. Now he just had to lie and wait for them to discover which two were used, and how.

Soon, he would be completely surrounded by darkness. No sense of his body, no sight, smell, or sound other than his thoughts. Not even sleep would grant him a reprieve and let him live in his dreams. How long could one go without sleep again? He knew it wasn't long. But how long would this go on? He had no way of tracking time.

Or of his own deteriorating sanity.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Dumbledore,_

_I'm afraid it has been a grave oversight of mine, to have not expressed my sincere thanks for the aid given me in my unusual predicament. Your son, Albus, has done more than assist me in acquainting myself with this Hogwarts, he has become a dear friend. __Although he has not spoken more of your involvement, I can deduce that you have done more than provide me with an acquaintance and friend, but have also been obliged to cover the cost of my schooling, among other things. I feel terribly indebted to you and wish to do what I can to repay you._

_Though I am unsure what opportunities may exist for me at the present, I pray you won't think me ungrateful when I ask this, but would you consider helping me in finding some means of income with which to repay you and hopefully cover my own expenses through to the end of term?_

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Hermione Granger_

Lacking a proper seal, as Albus had once put it, Hermione pressed a large carved ivory button she had found on the floor of her wardrobe into the warm red wax, leaving an intricate celtic knot imprint as there was a sharp rapping on her door.

"One moment," she called, pocketing the letter before heading to the door. Upon opening it, she found the Rileys waiting for her. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel much like eating this morning," she said, earning her a sigh from Eileen. Luckily, her friend thought better than to argue with her about her eating habits. "Go on without me."

Eoghan looked at his sister, then back at Hermione. "Is there anything we could do for ye then?"

"Actually," she pulled the letter out of her pocket, "would you mind mailing this for me? I think I'd like to stay in here today."

With a smile, he took the letter from her and gave a small bow before turning and escorting Eileen down the corridor. As her friends disappeared, Hermione sighed and slowly closed the door, her hand resting on the rough grain of the wood as she lowered her head to the cool metal strip bracing the back.

Days had past. Nearly a week now. What if he didn't awaken? How would the future she knew change without Albus Dumbledore? Grindelwald was to come, then Riddle… or would there be a Riddle if there was no Dumbledore to stop Grindelwald first?

She was beginning to affect time, even if indirectly. The danger of her presence was now all too real.

Tears were beginning to sting her eyes. With a sniffle, she stood up straight, wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and walked over to the table, scooting a chair closer to the stone framing the large windows before sitting down and leaning her head against the cold stone as she stared out the window at nothing in particular.

How could she have prevented this? Could she have? Was there anything she could do to prevent any of the events yet to unfold from occurring?

She felt powerless.

Closing her eyes, Hermione made wishes she knew might never be granted.

She wished to be in control.

She wished to be reassured that all would be well.

She wished Albus was back.

* * *

Three hundred sixty five days a year times twenty four hours a day…. eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours times sixty minutes an hour… five hundred and twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes times sixty seconds a minute…. thirty-one million, five hundred thirty-six thousand seconds.

He had never really thought about that before. What an enormous number. Imagine counting it. Could one count it? One's mouth would surely dry out before even coming close, right? Ah… but his wouldn't. He couldn't move it. Couldn't feel it. Was it still there?

Perhaps he was dead?

Honestly, why else would he know he existed and yet didn't? One might theorize that upon death one's soul would be suddenly ripped from its organic shell, but what if it wasn't? It wasn't like anyone had ever asked someone who died what it was like. Perhaps he was slowly pulled… or would it be _drained?_… from his body. How would one pull a soul from a body? Who would be pulling it?

Were they dead too?

But then, would that make this heaven or hell? There were no streets of gold. There was nothing in fact. But then he wasn't exactly burning either. Would he feel it if he was, given his current situation?

Well, in a way Albus felt he was burning his _thoughts_. He had too. They were endless, pooling around him like the wrapping of a rope around his throat. He was feeling suffocated by them, drowned in a sea of what ifs and how comes that he felt driven to silence by answering them, however he could. Even if it meant doing so with yet another question.

He was exhausted, his thoughts sounded like babbling, a faint hysterical laugh tainting the background every now and then, from where he had no idea, and had he felt his eyes, he was sure they would be tearing by now.

But they couldn't.

_Ha ha HA!_


	15. Maddening

_A/N: Thanks to all of you who have reviewed. I greatly appreciate your thoughts and encouragement, without them I'd probably never have gotten even this far.  
_

**Maddening**

15

_Ha ha haaaa! _

Dead? No, not dead. Black, yes, but not… well, not what? This place, this void? What do I call here? There's nothing. I feel nothing, I hear nothing. Huh, here, not hear.

_Ha!_ _A pun! A pun! Oh, the joy, oh, the fun!_

**No.** No puns. No fun. This is NOT fun. Have rational… er, _be_ rational. I need to make sense, even if I can't make any of _this._

_Oh, make sense, eh? With what? You have none! Ha ha ha! _

Oh really? I can sense how ridiculous this whole train of thought is!

_Trains now! Toot toot… how many cars have you? How fast they go? Toot! Rail you out of here, you think? Sixty minutes an hour… twenty four hours a day… _

STOP. I won't think about time.

_You have tons of it! Loaded on your train! Or it stopped! See! See! Stopped! Ha ha! Train's derailed, your time's run out!_

Jokes again. Always jokes. Do you see me laughing? DO YOU?

_Haaa! _

I'm arguing again! With what? Myself? A voice in head!

_Oh, poor ickle dumbles, doesn't know here from there, up from down, life from death._

I'm not dead.

_Sure?_

Yes… No… Maybe so.

_Which way's up, you'll never know!_

Not so sure, and yet I am, as clear as the fingers on my hand.

_Hand, band…_

**No.** Hand. That's it! Hand. Hermione's hand. It was here, _she_ was here. I have to get back to Hermione, have to keep myself together for her. I can't let this madness get to me. I have to think of Hermione.

_But now she's gone! Let's all sing a sad, sad song!_

No songs, no more rhymes! She's here. Still. She wouldn't leave me, she's here. She must be.

She must be.

She must be.

_She must be…._

* * *

Four weeks, soon to be five.

Over and over she traced the inky number on her parchment absent mindedly. Where notes should have been only a grim count now sat. Staring at it a few moments, Hermione sighed and crossed through it hard enough to tear the parchment. Quickly she grabbed the wasted sheet, stuffing it inside her text as a Slytherin glared at her from the desk just to the left of Albus' empty seat beside her as if the action was enough to bring the walls down around him. With a new sheet before her, Hermione began to quickly copy the words from the board before Branchusi had a chance to erase them. The last thing she would be able to get from her classmates would be a copy of the day's notes.

Only Albus would have lent her his.

Transfiguration had been difficult to endure the first few days, sitting alone with only contemptuous glares greeting her, but over the following weeks it was becoming easier. She pointedly ignored the men in class, and at first their taunts behind the professor's back made her fight to hold her tongue _and_ her wand, but now… now they had lost interest as only the occasional look of disgust and a wide berth were given to her anymore. In the end her strength to hold out was greater than their will to instigate.

Four. Soon to be five.

Final word written, and just in time, she looked up to find the board blank and her classmates packing up and heading out the door. Quickly she did likewise, hoping Professor Branchusi had failed to notice her uncharacteristic lack of focus, or again overlooked it as he did any of her accomplishments. Perhaps the man had a shred of humanity in him in that he wasn't torturing her as much lately with Albus' absence. That, or he was just slipping.

Her things ready, she fell in behind one of the Slytherins to leave and smiled as she spotted Eoghan waiting for her just outside the door. Hermione picked up her pace and slid through the door, barely missing a brush against the back of the Slytherin, which would have been awkward indeed.

"Ye look a mite flustered Miss Granger. Is everything alright?" Eoghan asked, offering his arm as they headed towards her next class as quickly as they could. He had taken it upon himself to escort her since Albus' accident despite the fact the gesture brought him extremely close to being late for several of his classes.

Shaking her head Hermione took his arm and said, "No, I'm fine. I'm doing better in fact, but still getting distracted at times." Genuinely grateful for her friends company, she did her best to cast him a smile but her heart truly wasn't it in. Judging by the look on his face, Eoghan knew it as well.

"I know." He lowered his gaze a moment to the books in his other hand before raising it to look off anywhere but at her. "My thoughts are on him too." With that they continued in silence. Their conversations had grown increasingly shorter as the days drew on, as if all that could have been said had already been passed between them, and almost always ended upon mentioning Albus.

If Albus were there, he would have found that rather amusing. Never before had he been so effective in rendering Eoghan mute.

* * *

Hermione. She's there. I mean here. I must think on Hermione.

_Hermione, Hermione, mione, mione, mione!_

Gods, I have to stop that damned voice. Just a moment of silence, please…

It was then that he noticed something, like a tickling, he would have missed it were it not for his concentrating so hard on blocking out the annoying laughter that had become his constant companion. And no sooner than he realized he had _sensed_ something, it slammed into him like his entire body had just been crushed in on itself from every angle all at once.

"aaahhhhHHHHH!" Albus screamed suddenly.

Feeling! Glorious, painful, tear inducing feeling!

"Thank Merlin it worked!" Madam Dillwyn cried from beside him.

"It only took how many attempts?" he heard his Head of House add sarcastically.

"I lost count, _Price_," came Professor Avery's annoyed voice, followed by his heavy footsteps out of the room. But Albus didn't care.

He _felt._

The sunlight burned through his eyelids, his blood felt overcome with needles, his body sunk heavily into the mattress as he felt air rushing in and out of his lungs, and he let the tears run.

"Ha ha! Light! There's light! And air! Yes, air! HA!" he began rambling. Something cool was draped over his forehead. It was cold, and wet, and marvelous! "Cold! Ha haaa! I feel, **feel! **No more dark. Light! Oh, light and air and _ha ha!"_

Carefully, expecting this cruel hallucination to fade away once again, Albus curled and flexed his fingers before gripping the linen sheet along his side, laughing merrily as he felt the course weave rub against his skin, his muscles shaking with the effort. "I can move! Ha ha!" He made to sit up and felt hands hold him down.

"Now wait, Mister Dumbledore," he heard Professor Price speak, "you've been immobile too long, you must rest and get your strength back slowly."

"Yes, yes… long it's been. We've been trapped so long!"

If he could have bore the pain of opening his eyes to the light that burned badly enough through his eye lids, he would have seen a concerned glance pass between Price and Dillwyn. Instead he laughed, in sync with the one rattling around in his head, and continued to let tears run down his face, their dampness a welcome feeling as they pooled on the sheet on either side.

"Yes, you're back now. Free, I suppose I should say," came Dillwyn's voice and a cool rag wiping off his arms. Oh, the sensation!

"Free," he whispered in reply. "_Free_… myself again! He'll go soon, yes, soon! _Ha!_"

From beside him came a concerned sigh, but he didn't hear it, he only heard his own voice.

_His_ voice, followed by another.

_Voicy, woicy, have no choicy! Free you may be, but not from me!_

* * *

"Will ye be going to see him after dinner?"

Despite the holiday decorations that now gave color to the Great Hall, and the lively voices from the tables around them, there was little cheer to be found in the Head Girl's company. Hermione sighed and stabbed her boiled potato once more, as if the numerous holes in it weren't enough. "I don't know, Eileen." Frowning, she set the fork down and pushed her half empty plate away. "Each time I go, I get my hopes up. I think… I think that if I just keep talking to him, he'll wake up. But he never does. And no one will let me know what's being done for him."

Eileen didn't have anything left to say that could cheer her up. It had been days since she had last tried to help Hermione find a reason to smile. "I'll come with ye then. If we give up, it'll be like turnin' our back on 'im."

Several minutes past in silence between them, their housemates sitting further down the table accustomed to giving them as much privacy as was possible in a room filled with the entire school body, their conversations drifting towards them every so often, their laughter and merriment falling on ears that found the sounds as foreign and distant as the song of the merpeople at the bottom of the lake. Hermione forced herself to eat at least a few bites from her plate, knowing how Albus would disapprove of her not seeing to her own health. Though her stomach felt better, she didn't really taste much as it passed her lips.

She was letting herself sink deeper into a depression each week, she realized suddenly, jolting her train of thought. I can't do this. I may not be able to find a way to help him as I would have in my time, were I had more freedom, but I can certainly do something. I can have hope.

"You're right. Let's go," she agreed, wiping her mouth before setting the linen napkin on top of her plate. " You done?" she asked, noting Eileen's seeming lack of appetite.

"Aye," she replied, also pushing her plate away as she stood to join Hermione.

They walked in silence, their footsteps and rustling petticoats softly echoing off the stone walls along the way. The din of the Great Hall faded behind them as they made the trip they had so many times before it no longer required any thought on their part and allowed the two to slip quietly into their thoughts. Thoughts that no longer held much hope, but plenty of sorrow.

When they reached the Infirmary, they went to push the door open and found it locked. Looking at each other, Eileen shrugged and knocked on the door. Finally, Madam Dillwyn's head appeared between the barely cracked doors. Her hair was escaping its usually strict confines in wild tendrils, several framing her face and sticking to the perspiring skin. Normally a patient such as Albus wouldn't require the medic to work so strenuously, so the sight of her so disheveled was setting Hermione's nerves on edge. "Oh, Miss Riley, Miss Granger. I'm sorry, but Mister Dumbledore can have no visitors until further notice."

"What?" Hermione found herself exclaiming. "Why not? What's wrong?" Panic struck as several different, and equally horrifying, possibilities ran through her mind all at once.

Madam Dillwyn smiled softly as she pulled a length of hair back from her right temple and tucked it behind her ear. "He's just awoke this afternoon and…"

"He's awake!" she cried, her previous gloomy mood gone. Beside her Eileen had grabbed a hold of her arm in a death grip and was proceeding to make excited sounds that were uncharacteristic of the redhead. "I, I have to see him!"

"Miss Granger, he's…" Dillwyn paused and seemed to be going over her wording in her mind. As she did, her hand gripped the edge of the door, her eyes focusing on nothing in particular. "He's not… _himself_, as of yet. There was more trauma than anticipated and I'm afraid I can't allow you to visit until he has been treated."

Hermione felt like blasting the woman through to the far side of the Infirmary. "I don't care what he's like, I want to see him regardless." She had just spent over a month seeing her closest and dearest friend lying like a rag doll on an infirmary bed with little to no hope of his recovery and now she was being kept from him?

Madam Dillwyn had come to know Hermione better over that time period and had apparently seen the start of a rather ugly scene she must have wanted to avoid for at that moment, her once kind expression turned harsh and she quickly pushed the doors shut. "Until further notice, Miss Granger. Good evening."

As the doors were locked, Hermione could have sworn she heard a hysterical sounding laugh come from within the room. Meeting Eileen's eyes, she could tell her friend had heard the same. Without a word the two pressed their ears to the thick wood and held their breath as they listened.

And heard only one thing…

"_No. No sleep! No darkness! NOOO!"_


	16. Sweet Salt

* * *

**Sweet Salt**

16

A week had past. One whole bloody week, and not _once _had Hermione managed to get even a peak through the massive oak doors that trapped Albus in the Infirmary. On more than one occasion, Eoghan had found her leaning against the doors, her shoulder numb and her feet aching, as she pressed an ear to the wood and closed her eyes, concentrating on even the smallest sound that could tell her what was going on inside.

All she got for her pains were her heart strings being plucked until they snapped and her cheeks dampened by her own tears.

It was in this state that Albus' cousin found her once again.

Hermione flinched, abruptly lifting her head from the door and opening her eyes, which released a flood of warm, salty tears as his hand landed on her shoulder. "Come, Miss Granger, ye know it's only making ye feel worse doing this te yourself."

She pulled a handkerchief out of her right sleeve, a habit she had finally developed throughout this ordeal, and patted her eyes dry. "Whatever I do, I'm not nearly as bad off as Albus." _Or perhaps us all,_ she thought to herself, terrified what repercussions to the time line she may have caused, not only by being here in the first place, but also by being the catalyst for Albus' condition. If he should never recover…

At that moment, there was a hysterical scream that penetrated the thick oak for a split second before a dampening charm cut the tail end off.

Shaking, Hermione lowered the handkerchief, folding it over to a drier spot as she felt another wave of tears coming on. Eoghan came around to face her, taking her by the arms and rubbing them, the most contact he dare give her, gentleman that he was. In all honesty, she wanted nothing more than to bury her face into his shoulder and feel friendly arms around her.

"Come," he said, wrapping her arm around his, leading her down the corridor. Hermione no longer put up a struggle or argued, she had no strength left with which to do so. Eoghan and Eileen had become her life lines, her only means of keeping her sanity, and she'd let him lead her into hell at that moment if it took her away from the pain and the guilt.

Silence reigned as they moved through the corridors. Her thoughts were far off, her eyes unfocused, her body feeling light and numb, like she was in a waking dream. Pity she couldn't wake from it. She didn't even recall saying the password to enter the Head Common room, but she did notice the odd sight that awaited her.

"Professor Price?"

Standing in front of the couch, her Head of House quickly turned to face her and took a step to his left, revealing Aberforth sitting on the couch. "Miss Granger," he replied calmly, moving further to his left to gesture for her to take the armchair next to him. The question running through her mind must have been written all over her face for he didn't pause to hear it voiced. "If you will be seated, Miss Riley has seen to packing your things. You will be leaving for the holidays early I'm afraid, this evening in fact."

As she felt the cushion give under her weight, Hermione looked between Aberforth and Price. "But where…"

"Eruditian Hall," came a rather quick answer from the usually quiet Aberforth. His eyes met hers for the briefest moment before dropping to examine the table in front of him, his voice becoming a faint whisper as he did. "Home, I mean."

Her eyes snapped back to Price. "I'm going home with Aberforth? But why? Whose decision was this?"

"It was mine."

The hair on Hermione's neck stood on end as the familiar voice caused her hopes to run wild, and turning in the chair to see whom it belonged to, she felt the floor fall out from under her.

It was Albus.

But, then… it wasn't.

The man walking out of Albus' room looked much like the Headmaster she knew and loved dearly, but after looking closer, past the long beard, glasses, and bright robes, she noticed the streaks of gray that stuck out like lines on a parchment throughout his otherwise white tresses. And his eyes, they were more like Aberforth's, darker more solemn, not the twinkling blue she associated with her dear friend. No, this wasn't Albus Dumbledore, this was his _father_.

"I meant to reply to your letter some time ago, but found myself quite involved at the Ministry, that is, until I received Professor Price and Eoghan's letters." He paused and nodded to Price who nodded in kind before leading Eoghan out of the Head Common Room. "I have taken a temporary leave in order to see to my son's recovery."

Aberforth looked lost in his own thoughts, lost without his brother, as he sat there showing no recognition of his father's presence, instead staring off in the direction of the table. Hermione, too, was at a loss.

"But Mister Dumbledore… sir," she began, suddenly standing and turning towards the aged wizard. "Why take _me_? I'm no relation to you."

Then she saw it, that damnable twinkle flashing for a split moment in eyes of dark blue. "Indeed, but I've taken it upon myself to see to your care. And no, you are not kin, but…" he let the sentence hang a few moments as he looked to the house-elf exiting behind him, Albus' trunk in tow, unspoken directions being conveyed through a look alone before it winked out of sight, presumably to whatever form of transportation Mister Dumbledore had arranged. He then turned back to Hermione with a kind smile. "I think you will be needed nonetheless."

Confusion flashed across her face and the wizard's smile deepened. "You did say you wished to repay me, did you not?" She nodded dumbly. "Good," he said, stepping forward and resting a hand on her shoulder, "then you will help me bring my son back."

As his hand left her shoulder he turned towards the exit of the Common Room and called for Aberforth, who snapped out of his reverie, grabbed her cloak from the back of the couch, and held it our for her. Stepping into it and turning for him to cover her other shoulder, only one word left her lips.

"Back?"

* * *

It was a grand carriage, horseless, driverless, and opening for them of it's own accord as they approached it, Mister Dumbledore in the lead. Stepping inside, Hermione felt her heart leap. Across the large room that was inside the magical transport, lay a sleeping Albus, covered by several warm blankets. Without thinking, she dashed across the room, throwing off her cloak as she landed in the seat beside his bed and took his hand in hers.

Behind her she could hear Aberforth and his father exchange a few words, and felt the carriage give a lurch as it took off, but all she could focus on was Albus.

His face looked peaceful, his chest rising and falling in a deep and slow rhythmic pattern as he slept, his hand warm and heavy in hers. "Albus," she breathed, bringing his hand to her lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it before rubbing it against her cheek as a tear slid down her cheek to dampen his skin.

"He'll not wake," his father suddenly spoke, seated across from the bed and looking at them with a note of interest. Hermione blushed and wiped at her eyes, knowing she must have been making a spectacle of herself, especially for the period she was now in. A wry smile spread across his lips as he continued. "It was necessary to ensure he remains asleep until we arrive." She made to move, lightly setting his hand down as she began to get to her feet and make her way to the empty seat across from Aberforth, who now sat reading a thick tome with a goat embossed in the leather of the cover.

"No," their father quickly interjected, causing her to freeze in place, "no, please… stay as you were." Slowly she lowered herself back down and took Albus' hand in both of hers, her thumb beginning to trace a lazy circle over the back of his hand. "It's contact I believe he needs now."

Hermione looked down at their hands. "What's happened to him?" Glancing over, she noted Aberforth's attention on his father as he too awaited the answer.

"He was trapped within his mind, Professors Price and Avery finally concluded. In a state that they believe left him lingering somewhere between his conscious and unconscious minds. When they devised a way to break the curse's power, he was abruptly brought back in sync with his conscious mind and physical body, but…" the wizard suddenly looked older than he did just moments ago. Hermione held Albus' hand a little tighter. "He's unaware that he is free. Mad, some would say. He argues with thin air, screams when there is less than bright light around him."

"If… if he was trapped between states of consciousness," she began to hazard a theory, "he may have only had his thoughts to accompany him, and our unconscious minds…" the eldest Dumbledore tilted his head so that his eyes looked at her over the rim of his half moon spectacles. She gasped and looked at Albus. "He's not arguing with thin air, he's arguing with himself, his unconscious self."

A moment later, as she reached up and brushed a strand on long auburn hair out of Albus' face and tucked it behind his left ear, Dumbledore said softly and with a note of awe, "A conclusion that took notable others days to arrive at."

* * *

She awoke when she felt her hand being lifted out of her lap and up towards Albus' bed.

Startled, she blinked her eyes open to find an apologetic Aberforth releasing her hand as if it stung him. "I, I'm sorry Miss Granger, er, Hermione… it's just… I thought maybe he'd… he'd relax if you had his hand again." Puzzled, she turned to look at Albus and saw that his face had twisted up into one of panicked fear and she quickly sat up in the chair, her back stiff as a blanket she didn't remember having fell off her shoulders. Taking his hand in hers, she reached up and lightly ran her free hand over his hair, brushing it softly off his forehead. "Albus, it's alright, I'm here." The tension in his jaw eased away. "I'm here Albus," she repeated in a near whisper, lifting his hand to her lips to place a caste kiss on it. Slowly, he visibly relaxed.

Aberforth leaned down and picked up the blanket, carefully placing it over her shoulders. She thanked him and he blushed slightly before quickly sitting back down. Following him with her eyes, she noted that Mister Dumbledore was missing, but before she could inquire after him, he appeared from far behind her where there had been a cabinet over the seat she had once thought to occupy, a green glass vial in hand.

"Ah, I see you have calmed him down. Thank you, Miss Granger." He walked around to the opposite side of the bed as he uncorked the vial and proceeded to administer the contents to Albus. "We've only an hour left of our voyage, but he will remain asleep for three I'm afraid." He then replaced the stopper and looked at her over his glasses. "It will give us time to get him settled before our work begins. Do rest again, it may be long before any of us gets much once we're home."

With a nod, she shifted the chair closer to the bed and leaned over to rest her head on Albus' upper arm, her left hand covering his, her right curled up under his elbow.

Before drifting off, she vaguely felt a hand cover both of theirs and give them a light squeeze.

* * *

The cool water was refreshing. Despite the gravity of what lay ahead for Albus' recovery, and her less than jolly holiday, Hermione felt better than she had in weeks. It was funny really, how just being able to see him, and touch him, had given her the grounding she needed to not feel so lost anymore. Now she could help, even if only by letting him know she was there.

"HERMIONE!"

Water covered the front of her skirts as the water pitcher crashed to the floor in a spectacular shower of porcelain shards, her arm having knocked it off the stand as she jumped in surprise.

Aberforth came storming through her chamber doors as they struck the walls on either side. "Hermione! He's awake and…" he suddenly paused to gasp for air, his hand gripping the ornate woodwork of the door nearest him as he gestured her to come, "father needs you. He's hysterical."

Quickly, she blotted her face dry and joined him as he lead her to the west wing at a near run. They weren't even half way there when she heard Albus' voice echoing through the corridor.

"NO! NO! No song, no rhyme! Plenty of time! _Plenty of time!"_

"Albus, Albus, there is no music, no songs. Albus?"

"Must be here! Must be!"

She didn't need Aberforth to lead her to Albus' chambers any longer, she had no doubt his outbursts would light the way. And they did, even over the loud clanks of her and Aberforth's leather soles on the dark marble floor as they ran.

"What Albus? What must be here?" Mister Dumbledore looked haggard and nearly at his wits end as he stood by his son's bed, his hand catching a flying fist before it could make contact with the lamp beside them.

As Hermione ran in and almost slid to a halt at the foot of his bed, Albus suddenly burst into a fit of hysterical laughter upon sight of her. "Here! Here! Ha ha! See!"

"Albus?" she asked, quickly exchanging a confused look with his father as she made her way around to the other side of the bed, Albus throwing back his head as he chuckled. She reached out for his hand, and jumped back as he whipped it back as if burned. "No! Fool! I'll not be deceived, NO, not again." He sat up straighter in the propped up bed and narrowed his eyes at her. "_Hermione_."

The tone with which he grumbled her name frightened her. Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes began to water as she looked to Aberforth, who stood ashen faced by the door, seemingly afraid to cross the threshold, and then to the eldest Dumbledore, who released his son's hand and looked between Albus and Hermione in clear dumbfoundedness.

Shaking slightly, she swallowed and took a deep breath, then lowered her hand and stepped closer, determined to muster her Gryffindor strength and find a way to calm him down. Again she reached out for his hand and he made to yank it away, but she quickly clamped on. Albus began to pull harder, causing her to use both hands as she pulled his forearm towards her and his resulting thrashing bounced her frame to and fro.

"Albus," she began calmly, hurt at the sounds he made. "Albus, calm down, it's me." His cries grew louder and his thrashing stronger, the back of his hand hitting her chest hard. She knew she couldn't take this much longer. Behind her she heard Aberforth's footsteps rush down the corridor. He too, wasn't taking this well.

"Albus, it's me!" she shouted, gripping harder and fighting, as if to drive the madness out of him, make him see. His other hand suddenly gripped at her right arm, his nails digging into her flesh as he tried to pry her off, his hair beginning to cling to his forehead and get in his eyes in sweaty clumps.

Then something snapped in her.

"ALBUS BLOODY DUMBLEDORE!" she screamed, gripping his clawing hand with her left hand so their arms were crossed, leaning forward enough to use her weight to help pin them between them. "Listen to me! It's Hermione! I'm trying to help you for God's sake!"

Albus stopped struggling and his face became pale. His eyes looked her over, searching for her. For a moment a thin smile graced his lips and the dimmest light of a twinkle flashed in his eyes. Hermione felt the corners of her mouth beginning to pull upwards in thankful relief, when it came crashing down once more.

The light was quickly snuffed in his eyes and he swung his head back and forth. "No, no," he moaned, "not again. No tricks, no games."

He didn't realize she was truly there, that she was no figment of his imagination.

A sob escaped her throat as she lowered her head to their entangled hands, the heat of her forehead burning the fingertips now going numb from the circulation being blocked with the strength of their clasp. "Please, Albus… it's me," she cried between sobs, letting the tears wet them both, "please."

"Must be here. Must be here," he began to mumble, staring up at the ceiling.

Hermione felt hands take a hold of her arms, pulling her back from Albus. Slowly, she let go of him and leaned back into his father's chest as he placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "We tried, dear, we tried." She nodded and wiped at her eyes. "Come, we need rest as much as him."

Without a word or a nod, she let him lead her out of Albus' chambers, his son mumbling to himself as the doors closed behind them.

* * *

He had been right. There was little rest to be had now. Four days and nights of helping Albus and she still couldn't find rest. Even when Dumbledore had resorted to giving Albus a sleeping draught so they could all get some sleep and hopefully have more energy to get through the next day. Christmas Eve.

Christmas. She had forgotten it was almost here. Normally she was excited, anticipating the company of family and friends, but not this year. Her holiday this year revolved around Albus. That was what she wanted for Christmas. Albus.

And he wouldn't likely be joining them for it. At least not consciously.

Sighing, Hermione threw off the covers and slid her feet into the slippers at the side of her bed. The large room was cool, not enough to cause her breath to escape in white puffs, but enough to make her shudder and quickly grab her dressing gown from the back of her vanity chair. The chamber was dark with the fire now out and unfamiliar despite three previous nights of staring about the room when she couldn't sleep. What she needed to rest was to see Albus. See him relaxed and sleeping and curl up next to him as she had in the carriage.

Her wand lay on the nightstand. Picking it up, she cast a faint Lumos and headed out of her chambers towards Albus'.

It was surreal, how quiet the estate was now, she had become so accustomed to Albus' screams and laughter echoing down corridors, driving the house-elves to distraction. But not now. For now, all was calm.

Reaching his chamber doors, Hermione turned the knob of one and quietly let herself in, closing it softly behind her. A weak smile spread on her face as she took in the sight of him, pale moonlight illuminating his peaceful face. Flicking her wand and extinguishing the light it had cast, she set it on the nightstand beside his bed as she reached it and lowered herself into the chair that had become a permanent fixture alongside it.

Sliding her hand under his, she looked to see that he was still sleeping before lifting it to her lips, kissing the back softly then pressing it to her cheek. "Albus," she whispered against his warm skin.

"Hermione?"

Her barely whispered name thrilled her, she squeezed his hand and brushed his hair back from his face excitedly. "Yes, Albus, it's me, Hermione."

His hand squeezed hers and she felt her heart leap. "Hermione."

Then he opened his eyes.

His fire too had gone out long ago, and though moonlight fell on his face, she immediately saw fear and doubt cloud his eyes. "No, no…" her heart sank as she knew another episode was on him. "No dark. NO!" His voice grew in pitch and volume as he threw her hand off him. "NO, NO TRICKS, NO GAMES!"

The whole household would be up soon. She came in there for selfish reasons and here they would all lose their one chance at some sleep because of it.

She tried desperately to calm him, she reached for her wand to light the room, but he bumped the corner of the nightstand and she heard it strike the floor with a wooden clang. Instead she rubbed his arm. "Albus, it's me, I swear to you. Hermione. Please, you must see me!"

"NO! Not again! Stop deceiving me!" he screamed and thrashed his arm away.

She looked over her shoulder towards the door, but no one was entering, not even a footstep was to be heard outside. "Aberforth!" she called, none of the house elves names coming to mind.

Moments felt like hours as she tried to calm him and no one came. Not Aberforth, not their father, not a house elf. "Doesn't anyone bloody hear him?" she cried in frustration. She wasn't helping. He still refused to believe she was Hermione, that she was there. Never had she felt so useless before.

"Albus, _please_," she cried out, tears spilling down her cheeks as she snapped. Suddenly she leapt to her feet and shouted at him. "It's me, _Hermione_. I'm here, damn you, can't you see that! I've been here! God, Albus, what more can I do!"

He was whipping his head back and forth at her words. "No, no, no!"

Hermione had no idea what came over her the next moment. She was tired of thinking, tired of fighting, and desperate to have Albus back. All she knew was she was grabbing him, her hands pressing into either side of his face as she leaned over him. "Look at me, Albus. _LOOK! _Me. _Hermione_." He grumbled in return, trying to shake his head despite her tight grip.

"ALBUS!" she cried out with a heart wrenching sob that echoed off the walls and shocked him into stillness. Slowly, she lowered her forehead to his. "_Please_," she whispered, "I can't stand to see you like this. Please, Albus, I _need you_. I…" she began lightly rubbing her thumbs on his cheeks as she felt a tear run down the tip of her nose to drip onto him. She was begging, pleading, it was all she had left in her, the last of her strength, and she felt she too would go mad if she failed again. Her last move before giving up.

"_I __**need**__ you_," she whispered, lowering her lips to where her fallen tear moistened his…


	17. Intentions

**A/N:** There are tidbits of canon that I will be incorporating, where I feel it is appropriate, despite the otherwise AU nature of this fic. I wanted to warn you before anyone starts pointing out the non-canon aspects. Anyways, here is the next installment, where everyone has been wondering if Albus will return to us. Hope you enjoy! ~RedArt

* * *

**Intentions**

17

"Hermione?"

He knew she wouldn't have left him to this fate. She _had_ been there with him, he knew it, knowing she would be there had helped him fight, she _had_ to be there. He needed to believe she was with him, or else… well, the thought of the alternative was more frightening than the whisper in his ear.

_But she isn't!_

Albus growled. He hadn't been freed from his prison alone. That damn voice had followed him, taunted him, let him see what he most desired before ripping it from him, laughing at him with his own twisted face.

On a level he knew it was his voice he heard, all distorted and mangled until it barely sounded like him anymore, his own doubt and fear, yet he didn't want to admit it, he wanted to suppress it, conquer it. And here it mocked him.

He _had_ been left in peace for a time, free from the laughter, and he was sure he had felt her presence during his reprieve from his unwanted companion. But it had drifted away, the feel of her near him fading as he felt his dream dissolve, leaving him faced with his tormentor once more.

_He, _the one who found pleasure in his pain, had tricked him into imagining she was there numerous times, letting him believe she stood by him, her brown hair escaping the intricate coif that tried to confine it as it framed her face in defiant tendrils, her warm, soft hands taking his, planting light kisses on them that made him want to reach out and touch her and make sure she was real, and the dream would suddenly fracture and he would see her for what she was, that damnable dark mirror image of himself, grinning at him as it grabbed his hand, refusing to release him as _his_ laughter rang in his ears.

_Not her, oh no… never her. Just me. Just US. Ha ha!_

He'd try to break free and this corrupt form of himself would hold on tighter, fight as hard to keep him fast to him as much as Albus fought to push him away. Make _him_ vanish.

But he never did.

"Yes, Albus, it's me, Hermione."

Like before, he could feel the dream of her slipping but he didn't want to let her go.

"Hermione."

Perhaps calling to her would keep her with him a moment longer, before _he_ came, before _he_ tore it all away. Her name could be his armor, his anchor. Even as her name left his lips he felt the fuzzy comfort of his dream lift and slowly his eyes opened and panic struck him.

Darkness.

"No, no…" _He _always reigned here, in the lightless expanse he had been trapped in so long, like a moth was drawn to a flame, his fear couldn't resist the dark, the one small piece of his prison that even bodily freedom could not escape. "No dark. NO!" But his pleas fell on deaf ears, for _he_ wasted no time in seizing control.

_No, she can't stay. You know I couldn't let her have you. No… I'm here. Whenever you find comfort, I'll be here to take it from you! Just us! Ha ha!_

Albus pushed him away, flailing his arms out to force him as far from him as he could and screamed. "NO, NO TRICKS, NO GAMES!"

_Oh, but you can't push me out dumbles! _

_He_ laughed again and his image shifted into one of Hermione, his beautiful Hermione, her face wet with tears. Her lips parted to speak and that devil had the nerve to use her voice against him, to drive the knife in his heart deeper.

_You wouldn't push me away, would you Albus?_

His heart twisted painfully as he felt soft fingers on his arm, rubbing, like his dear Hermione would. It was a cruel game and he wanted it to end.

"NO! Not again! Stop deceiving me!" He torn his arm from his tormentor as Hermione's sweet face twisted and shifted until _his_laughing face replaced it. Albus pinched his eyes shut against this round of torture, doing his best to block out the onslaught of taunts and jeers. "No, no, no!" It felt like an eternity passed before he felt _him_ pressing his face to his, his voice low as he grabbed a hold of either side of Albus' face.

_**Fight. **I can fight as long as you can. Fight, Albus, I **will **win. I…_

He drew closer and Albus tried desperately to shake him off.

_I **will **win._

And it was like an invisible barrier came crashing down around him, shattering into millions of glass like shards as a warmth pressed against his lips. A soft, wet, warmth that conveyed everything _he _wasn't- love, compassion, hope.

The warmth spread through him like a raging fire and all feeling of his treacherous demon's presence vanished with the shattering realization that it could only be one person, the only one with daring enough to ignore propriety, the only one whose warmth and touch he craved, he _needed_ before he completely lost his mind.

Hermione.

He slowly parted his lips and felt her deepen the kiss with a passion that surprised him as he ran his hands up her arms until he felt the fuzzy wisps of hair that had escaped her nightcap, quickly taking a hold of her, his thumbs behind her ears, his fingers feeling wisps of hair and soft cotton under them as he held her to him. Tears formed in his eyes, half with overwhelming joy and half in fear of losing this most incredible of dreams. For if this was a dream, he didn't want to wake, he wanted to get lost in it.

But that inkling of fear dissipated as her hands ran down his cheeks and then tangled in his hair with a determination and commanding presence unexpected in her sex that could only mean it was indeed his Hermione.

Her lips were soft and salty, from tears he knew, but who's he didn't care, it was the sweetest taste he had ever known as her tongue met his, caressing it. Every texture where they met seemed more real, more emphasized, from the smooth hardness of her teeth, to the warm soft brush of their tongues, to the plumpness of her lips as he took her upper lip between his and suckled it softly. There was an intimacy in the way they explored each other he never thought possible in a seemingly simple kiss. But then, this wasn't simple, it was passionate, heated, and his entire body was reacting to it.

The warmth of it spread from where their lips met through his chest where he felt her against him, to further down where a tightness was building in his abdomen that stirred in him an urgent need his body seemed to understand while his mind didn't. Though never kissed before, he acted without thinking, letting the sensations fuel the need that guided him. His hands moved of their own accord as one came to circle his fingers on the nape of her neck, the other running down the back of her nightgown where the heat of her skin radiated through the thin cotton of her nightgown. His tongue slowly grazed across her teeth before dipping into her mouth to find hers, and he swallowed her sighs with a hunger he didn't know he was capable of.

Moments passed before their lips parted enough for them to draw a deep, gasping breath. Albus dared to open his eyes and brushed a lock of brown hair from in front of her face as he whispered the name he had called so often without answer. "Hermione."

She gave a tearful chuckle and wiped some moisture from his cheeks, her eyes scanning his face before locking gazes with his. In her eyes he could see that she was ready for him to disappear at any time, for him to suddenly change right before her and it confused him. "Hermione?" he asked, worried by her unease.

"You do know it's me, _right_?" she asked, fear evident in her tone, her eyes welling up as they searched his.

Now he chuckled, glad that he could alleviate her fears. "Who else would have the audacity to do as you just did?"

A smile that warmed him even more spread on Hermione's face. "I wasn't alone."

Tucking more of her delightfully messy hair behind her ears, he grinned and gazed at her with amusement in his eyes. "You have been a corrupting influence."

Another light hearted chuckle and she was seated beside him, her torso crossing over his chest, her head nuzzled into his right shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her in return, wishing to keep her close to him as long as he could. She had been his lifeline and only now could he finally hold on to it and never have to release.

And it was in this sweet, comforting silence that they remained, warm in each other's embrace, his head leaning against hers, her nightgown clad legs against his own blanket covered ones as he felt her glorious weight rise and fall with his chest with every breath he took.

* * *

Sometime later he felt a warm and wrinkled hand brush the hair off his forehead and Albus groggily eased his eyes open to find his father looking down on him as the bright morning light poured in from the large windows to his right.

"You've finally returned to us I see."

Albus gave him a puzzled look and then noticed he was alone on the bed. Bolting upright, he looked around the room, panicked. "Hermione? Where is she? She _is_ here, right?" It couldn't have been a dream, it was too real! Her hair, her voice, her warmth… her kiss.

His father smiled and put a hand on his shoulder saying, "Yes, she is." He then pressed him back against the pillows. "Rest my boy. I had Toddles return her to her bed once you both fell asleep." There was a knowing look in Percival Dumbledore's eyes that bore into him from over his half moon glasses that made a small shiver climb up his spine. "I must say, I had a feeling she would play some part in your recovery, yet I had never imagined the means by which she would accomplish it."

"You saw us?" He knew the answer, but found himself asking in the small hope he was wrong. A simple nod was the reply he got. He swallowed slowly. "I… I'm sorry father, I should have stopped it. I just, you see…"

And his words left him as he saw his father smile weakly. "Albus, do not worry yourself. I imagine Miss Granger has come from a time where social propriety is defined differently, based on all I've learned of her through Professor Price and yourself." His head tilted slightly as he leaned back in the chair beside the bed. "Perhaps that is why it worked. You've been delusional since the curse on you was broken and nothing we did would allow you to believe we were truly with you."

Albus nodded and felt his cheeks color with his admission. "I thought she had been there many times, and you, and Aberforth, but you would always change back into… into my tormentor. I came to not trust my eyes, my ears. But then the moment our lips touched I knew she was real. I never would have thought her capable of doing something so forward, it couldn't have been my imagination. It was like I finally broke free."

A nod and his father stood, placing a hand on his shoulder once again. "Then I am forever grateful she acted as she did, for it gave me back my son." He squeezed his shoulder tenderly. "Now, rest a bit longer and I'll have some lunch brought to you. Later, Fidget can help you dress to join us. Your brother is rather anxious to see you."

"Yes, father," he replied, relaxing as he watched the burgundy robed figure exit his chambers, closing the door silently behind him. Once alone, he turned and stared at the warm sunlight pouring in, a smile on his face as it brought back the memory of the warmth that set him completely free.

* * *

Fidget just couldn't believe he was full.

"Honestly, I could not stomach another bite. I've not had anything to eat in nearly a week or more, you said as much yourself." Already he amazed himself by having fit a bowl of beef broth, a small cucumber sandwich, a poached pear, and two cups of tea. By his calculations, if today was Christmas Eve, he had been kept on nutritive potions for weeks, eating as much as he did with a shrunken stomach was a miracle. Was Fidget trying to stuff him to the gills?

The house-elf that had know him since his birth tilted his head and gave Albus the pleading, watery eyed look he usually did when trying to get the young wizard to do something. Unfortunately for the house-elf, Albus outgrew that little ploy years ago, but he hadn't the heart to disappoint him either. At least he knew how to avoid doing so without making himself physically sick.

"Alright," he sighed, reaching across the tray suspended over his bed for a small muffin, "but just one thing more." Fidget smiled. Albus began to lift the muffin to his lips and paused. "Oh, would you be so kind as to get my black sack coat, gray trousers, favorite white shirt, black cravat, and crimson waistcoat?"

"Not your robes, young Master?"

At home, he normally dressed in the traditional manner, like his father, in layers of medieval cut robes, but he thought of Hermione and how the muggle dress of his time was an adjustment for her. The last thing he wished to do was make her become accustomed to him in wizard garb as well.

"No, Fidget. I'll dress as I would for school."

As he left to fetch Albus' clothes with a slight frown, Albusquickly set the muffin on a corner of the tray, grabbed his wand from the nightstand where Fidget had set it, and transfigured it into a small pastel pink dinner mint he promptly popped into his mouth. No sooner than it hit his tongue and began to dissolve in sugary, minty goodness did Fidget return, quickly laying the garments over the arm of the chair beside his bed and Albus made to swing his legs over the side to get up.

"Oh no, Master Albus. Master Dumbledore ordered me to dress you and take you to the study in a wheeled chair. Your muscles aren't fully recovered yet."

"Ah." Albus eyed the tea pot, realizing now why it had tasted slightly off. Leave it to his father to ensure he took his potions without rebuke. Sighing, he nodded, adding "Just not the cravat." He winced and wrapped a hand around his throat with the recollection of the one, and only time, he made the mistake of letting the house-elf put that on him.

Fidget agreed and with a snap of his finger, the clothing vanished from the chair, leaving Albussitting on his bed fully clothed save his cravat and shoes. As Albus swung his legs over, the house-elf handed him his cravat and while Albusbegan to tie it around his neck, Fidget snapped his fingers once again and a chair, that looked much like one of the velvet upholstered chairs in the drawing room only it bore two large wheels on either side of it's arms and a small one that stretched out from the footrest that had been added to the bottom, appeared alongside the bed waiting for him. When Fidget went to wave his shoes on him, Albus held up his hand.

"I am fully capable of putting on my shoes." With a small frown, the house-elf held them out and Albus bent over, gripping the leather tab at the back of his congress gaiters as he slid each foot in, taking a small amount of pleasure in doing simple tasks he had taken for granted. A moment later and he was lifting himself off the bed and onto the chair with shaking arms, much to Fidget's disappointment.

He couldn't imagine how a mugglewithout restorative draughts would fair, muscularly, after weeks of confinement, when he was still this weak with potions to aid him.

The trip to the study was slow, with Fidget walking before his chair to change stairs to ramps and open doors with a wave of his hand as the chair wheeled itself obediently behind the house-elf. Having to be escorted everywhere would become annoying after a time. He'd have to make alternate arrangements with Fidget, who seemed to not like the idea of Albus no longer being the young boy he chased after in the nursery.

Entering the study, he found his brother curled up in the window seat, his back to the cold stone of the wall, his arm pressed against a window pane as he read from a book laid open in his lap. His father sat at his desk, a pile of parchments before him as he wrote diligently on one. It had been a long time since they were last all together in that room. It bothered him a little that it would take his being cursed into a month long limbo to bring them here.

His chair wheeled itself further into the room, coming to stop beside a chair that sat across from his father's favorite wingback. The two original occupants must have been deeply engrossed in their activities, for they didn't notice his arrival until Fidget disappeared with a pop.

There was a loud bang as his book was slammed shut and Aberforth leaptto his feet, dashing across the room to give Albus a hug that brought a smile to his face. Long ago such shows of affection were deemed too childish for them, but he didn't care at that moment. He could tell by his brother's reaction that he had been scared and there was but one thing Aberforth did when scared, he sought out Albus. He could image how his being afraid for him had made it more difficult for the younger Dumbledore.

As their father cleared his throat, Aberforth pulled away. "I thought Hermione could help. You only calmed when she was there, well… most of the time."

Albus' thoughts ran wild. Hermione _had_been there? He hadn't imagined her? He had been right all along? And when had Aberforth begun addressing her informally?

His brother leaned in, a grin on his lips, and whispered mischievously, "never thought she'd kiss you though!"

"You saw us too?" he exclaimed, feeling embarrassed now that he learned his entire family had witnessed his first real kiss. He felt his cheeks redden brighter than his hair and his grip on the arms of the chair tightened.

Percival Dumbledore took a blotter to and set aside the parchment he had apparently been writing on, stood, and crossed the room to take his seat across from Albus, crossing his legs under his layers of robes as he leaned back into the plush velvet back. "Yes, Aberforth, it was an unusual means of bringing Albus back to rights, but we needn't mention it again. I do not wish to embarrass Miss Granger, or your brother, further, understood?"

Aberforth lowered his eyes, his grin instantly gone. "Yes, father."

"Now, would you please see about the carriage, we've some shopping this afternoon and Albus will not be up to Apparating just yet."

"But father, I wanted to see if Albus…" An eyebrow raised on their father's face and Aberforth caved. "Yes, father."

"Good. Albus will be here when you return."

His father sat silent, watching as Aberforth left, the heavy door closing behind him. Once they were alone, Albus knew a serious discussion was coming, otherwise their father would not have found a reason to send his brother on an errand.

"You know I have the utmost trust in your judgment Albus," there was something in his words that made Albus a bit uneasy, something his father rarely did without a purpose. "And though I have come to feel that Miss Granger is not only indeed the brilliant young witch you described, but a very respectable one as well. Any concerns I may have had about her adjustment to our period have been unfounded."

Albus felt his heart rate begin to slow in relief, for a second at least.

Reaching over to the small table that stood next to his chair, his father pulled a wooden box closer to him, opened it and pulled out a thin, long pipe that he began to stuff with a sweet smelling tobacco as he continued. "I also have sensed the growing… tenderness between you."

Albus had found it hard to correspond with his father without mentioning her and Percival Dumbledore was known for his ability to glean more from the written and spoken word than was considered normal. He read body language even better. Albus didn't want to think about what his current lack of comfort was telling the eldest Dumbledore at that moment, for it couldn't have been good. His thoughts, however, still didn't prepare him for his father's next words.

"That being said, I must ask what, if any, intentions you have towards Miss Granger?"

* * *


End file.
